


Cats' Eyes & Noble Hearts

by alyxpoe



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Gen, M/M, Magic, NaNoWriMo, NaNoWriMo 2014, Romance, Science Fiction, Shapeshifters - Freeform, Wizards, bi-sexual character, futuristic love story, post WWIII, slow-building romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 93,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyxpoe/pseuds/alyxpoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about love, acceptance and finding your place in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 is my 2014 NaNoWriMo entry, and it will pick up where this story leaves off. I'm also changing the rating to 'mature' for sexy times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of cleaning up done on this chapter 21 Feb 2015. Changing the publication date as well to keep up with my editing.

**-Chapter One-**

It is late evening when, in his feline form, Dali trots easily through the silky charcoal and black velvet shadows lining the alley that runs between one of his favorite bolt holes and the local Apothecary shop. Taut, lean muscles glide beneath a shiny coat as he moves gracefully on broad, polydactyl paws, dodging shards of broken glass, rusted nails and other bits of detritus; he misses almost nothing, having trained himself to remember as many details of his immediate environment as possible. Nothing is wasted, even when he largely ignores what his senses bring to him, his whirring brain analyzing and then choosing what may be useful to him in either one of his forms in the future. He’s relatively new to this particular version of Lambden, so he takes these evening excursions often in order to memorize the layout of his new home should he ever need to make a quick getaway.

Things are calmer in this town than where he’s been recently, as if the rot that’s infected many parts of the country has not yet spread this far north. It hurts, some, when he thinks about where he began and where he’s been, though he’s never had any use for looking backwards when the world in front of him is so much larger than anything he knew before. It does no good, he admonishes himself, to waste time mulling over the parts of his life that cannot be changed, either by magic or not. Somewhere in a buried memory, he can hear a woman’s laugh, a sound akin to the twinkling of a silver bell. He shoves it deeper into his psyche and returns his attention to the path in front of him.

Dali’s paws kick up bits of dust as he heads down the alley, his keen ears pick up the sounds of mice feasting in a fetid pile of rubbish; they grow silent as he passes them. He’s not interested in them tonight.

The looming buildings on either side of him are stone, brick and cement structures; most still retain at least some glass in their windows, even if it is cobwebbed with cracks and coated with grime. Some are boarded up and painted white in order to signify which of the empty buildings are still owned by private individuals. Others seem on the edge of being nothing but rubble; still a few stand and stare forlornly over the city with dark, empty eyes. Back here, in the forgotten alleys and dusty doorways, Dali can experience the truth of Lambden, in the darkness where the ‘good’ people do not dare pry. He’s not sure which category he fits into, though he doesn’t believe everyone who passes the night alone should necessarily be automatically cataloged as ‘bad.’

Slowing to his normal long-striding walk when the alley meets the road, Dali turns right and takes in the grey concrete steps of the homey little shop he’s been visiting regularly. Unlike true felines, his eyes pick out each and every hue of the world around him. Orangey-colored brick glows faintly pinkish from the sunset that has just begun creeping towards the horizon; a small clay pot of lemon yellow flowers rests against a blue door. Rays of the fading sun dance over the panes of a large show window running the length of the front of the building, currently it is dark but he can still make out the many shapes of the potions bottles on display there. Beyond the window is the main room of the shop and beyond that, the kitchen and the rest of the living areas; he knows from former visits to this place.

At the bottom step outside the side door of the Apothecary, the wavy-coated cat stops and sits on his haunches in order to groom himself. As he licks each furry paw with his rough pink tongue, he takes in the scents of the places he has been tonight and carefully spreads them, the smells of this city he again calls his own, into the fur on his head and back, using his sharp claws as a comb.

After a little while, the door of the shop opens with a slight creak of its cast-iron hinges. He narrows his eyes against the strong beam of a floating candelabra from within but does not move from his spot on the cool flat rock, allowing the person to come to him. A warm woman’s voice calls out to him and he begins to purr loudly, the vibrations emanating from deep within his chest and rolling out into the air between them with a deep, unmistakable rumble.

“Ah, there you are,” she says, beginning to carefully stroke his head and under his chin with her fingertips. “Just where have you been, mister?” She laughs a bit and sets a plate of venison scraps at his side. He stands and rubs himself on her hand, purring all the while.

The twenty-eight year old woman backs up and sits down on the top step to watch the cat eat. Tonight she is dressed in a long tunic of pale orange and a velvet robe of black. Her feet below a pair of chocolate brown leggings are bare, toenails painted a shimmery pink to match her fingernails. She pulls her knees up and rests her arms on them, giving the cat his space. While watching him, she talks into the growing twilight.

“It was slow again today, mister cat. Harry did her best to sell some of her heartache mending blends, but no one would open their purses. Seems like everyone’s hearts are full of love at the moment, which really isn’t a bad thing, no, but it is making business a bit dry just now.” She gestures towards the plate. “Sorry this is all we had left tonight, you know when things are tight we stick to what’s most important, yeah?”

Dali, still purring, walks up the three steps to bump her calf with his head. He pushes his whole body against her and winds all the way around before returning to the white ceramic plate. There’s not much left and she usually goes back in once he finishes, but he can sense she’s got more to tell him so he bats at a piece of meat that’s slightly overcooked, effectively stalling for time.

“Oh, mister kitty, I do have some good news, though. I know it’s silly, but we’ve just received word that Jacky is coming home!” She twists the end of her plait in nervous fingers, coppery strands glinting in the dying sunlight.

Dali glances up at her, noting the barely-concealed tears in her eyes. Because he’s in his cat form, she does not take offense at his lack of an empathetic answer. Instead he butts his head against her thigh.

“But…” stroking his back, she takes a deep breath as if preparing herself for confession, “He’s going to be so disappointed in us. Even with our skills, we’ve been unable to make the shop profitable. Granted, most weeks we break even, but with Harry’s most recent, er, slight extravagance on those imported ShiShi flowers…you remember I told you about those? Right? The ones that were ‘guaranteed to make the object of your desire fall in love with you’?” She snorts at her own silliness. “Honestly. I should never have let her buy them, but when Harry gets something in her head…” she trails off, dreamily gazing over her right shoulder into the lonely alley.

Dali studies her, takes in the new lines beside blue eyes and the dark smudges beneath them. Years ago, when he first discovered his abilities, he’d help the elderly man and woman who started this shop. Apparently they were the parents of this young lady.

Perhaps he can do so again…things have been awfully dull in the two years since the turf war on the other side of the world began winding down, not that he ever paid much attention to those types of things. It would be a welcome distraction and if it meant that he doesn’t have to hunt for his food during those times when he is actually hungry, well, then, that’s good for all of them, right? Dali blinks up at the young woman, a more thoughtful expression on his face than any cat should rightfully be able to pull off. The young woman misses it, though, because she is still staring into the dark alley.

“Ah, who am I? Telling all of this to a cat? I’m sure you must think me absolutely ridiculous.” She stands and brushes off her clothing then leans down and picks up the now empty plate, her long honey-brown braid swishing back and forth against her robes with the motion.

Dali winds his body around her wrist and she smiles, stroking the silky fur on his back gently. When she turns to the door, there are twin crystals of tears in the corners of her eyes and Dali feels something spark in his cat heart. He’s not exactly wired to be attracted to her; perhaps he is starting to think of himself as a bit of a benefactor. He never considers that the reason he wants to help is to repay her for her kindness, and he will certainly never admit to himself-in either form-that he is just feeling the slightest bit lonely.

He trots back down the alley, a plan taking shape in his mind.

Later, on the other side of town, in the deepest part of the night, a black cat with a thick, wavy coat sits under an open window, his tail curled around his front paws, intently listening to the voices on the other side of the wall as they carry down to him clearly on the still air. Once he feels he has enough information, he slips away unseen, heading back towards his favorite resting place.

***

“Missy, why do you insist on feeding that cat?” Harry Weston grumbles as she scrubs the inside of an empty brown glass potion bottle with a bit too much force. The brush she’s using catches then bends on the lip of the bottle in her hand, effectively sticking in place. She growls and dashes the whole mess to the floor, causing a cascade of suds to pour over the side of the sink. A handful of rebellious bubbles float up towards her face and pop, showering her with thousands of tiny rainbow-colored crystals.

Anyone else would at least crack a smile. Harry is less than amused.

“Sis, why don’t you just use your magic?” Missy queries, daintily stepping over the puddle as she enters the kitchen carrying tonight’s empty plate. She casually waves her right hand, calling several big, fluffy towels seemingly out of thin air then she points her left index finger towards the sudsy wet patch. They plop down into the mess and Harry frowns.

“You don’t have to clean up after me again, Missy.” Harry crosses her arms over her ample chest and willfully ignores the confetti decorating the top of her head. Water drips from her fingers and leaves dark tracks against her sapphire blue robes. Annoyed, she shakes the rolled up sleeves from her elbows back down to her wrists. She runs shaky fingers through her short, spiky, ash blonde hair; tiny colorful prisms glide from it towards the floor.

Missy sighs wearily and leans against the table, thinking that the hair raking only serves to make Harry look even more eccentric than she usually does: last week she decided her hair should be bright blue. It really was too bad that it actually went puce for three days, the blue was a nice shade.

“Oh, Mister Cat? I don’t know, Harry, there’s something _different_ about him.”

“He’s a cat, Missy. See-Aye-Tee, cat,” Harry grumbles. At her feet, the towels are soaking up water and soap as if pushed over the wood by a human hand. “Never mind the fact it’s another mouth to feed,” Harry mutters, mostly to herself.

Missy reflects on the rather comical love-hate relationship her sister shares with their sort-of pet. The one and only time Harry tried to touch him, he hissed and drew his rather impressive set of claws. Since then, Harry has decided that she hates cats and the cat doesn’t seem to be bothered much about it either way. Missy considers the many people who have reacted the same way to Harry and inwardly shrugs; it is her lot in life to get along with people oft labeled ‘difficult.’

Using the same unspoken spell as her sister, Harry points at the now sopping towels then at the sink. They drape themselves over it in order to drip down the drain. She scratches at her head and sighs wearily, disturbing the confetti in her hair. “I’m sorry, Missy, I just really thought that the ShiShi flowers would be a hit with the twenty-something crowd, you know?”

Missy doesn’t answer, only nods; there’s no reason to keep beating that particular figuratively dead horse to an unsightly pulp. Harry gives her a one-armed hug and gruffly says goodnight then leaves the kitchen, shoulders hunched and eyes on the wooden floor beneath her bare feet. Missy watches after her, almost offering a cup of tea, then thinks better of it and whips one up for herself in no time at all without ever physically touching the stove.

Long after most people in Lambden have turned in, Missy Hillard nee Weston sits at her kitchen table surrounded by stacks of paper and a large accounting book. The expression on her face says it all; an expression she keeps locked away except in these wee hours of the night when she is alone and doesn’t need to hide. It is times like this that she misses Jim the most. Granted, they’d only been married three months when he was shipped to New Zealand but they were happy ones and she reflects on them occasionally when things get rough with Harry. That brings her full circle back to her brother and she sends out a little prayer to the Goddess that Jack doesn’t return to her the same way Jim did: in a pine box. She thinks she can live out the rest of her life comfortably without ever having to go through _that_ again, at least until she’s old and grey.

Missy shakes off the depressing thoughts and holds on to the knowledge that Jack is a strong, brave person and more than a foot soldier; more than even a doctor, really. He hasn’t been fighting on the front lines, but rather patching up the men and women who do. According to the gossip around town, the tide of the war has begun shifting and it seems the New Australians will soon have their nation back under their control. So, that’s something then. Something positive to consider while she stares at the tables of numbers without really seeing them. Eventually they blur into meaninglessness.

Sometime around three in the morning, she packs it all back into the cupboard and takes herself to bed, hoping for good dreams that will take her thoughts off the store’s problems at least for a little while.

***

Not far from Missy, a man seven years her junior sits cross-legged on a moth-eaten rug of a run-down flat on the second floor of a building that’s been empty for some fifty years or so. Sheets of paper are spread around him in the otherwise empty room, some balled up and thrown while others are covered with messy scribbles and creased from his irritation with _writing_. The candle floating above his head bounces lightly on the slight air current wafting through a crack in one of the windows. It throws charcoal shadows on the walls and over the mess. His left hand grasps a handful of his dark, wavy hair and he is biting the tip of his tongue between his front teeth in concentration of the task in front of him.

Dali clutches a stubby pencil in his right hand, carefully printing letters. This one is going better than the first ten and when he stops, he holds up the paper to admire it. He has only very rarely written or corresponded with another human being in over ten years and he is annoyed to find that some of his abilities remain rusty. He thinks that he’s got to practice this more than once a week if he’s ever going to return to his former skill level.

Dali sighs. Some days it is just easier to be a cat, but he swore to himself the day he learned the skill that he would never let it overtake him. He firmly refuses to be anything other than a creature with the ability to walk in two worlds. Reading, though, is one of the skills he retains no matter which form his physical body is in: he would have it no other way. His eyes flick over the page; satisfied, he folds the cream-colored paper in half and gracefully rises to feet.

Dali absentmindedly drags his fingers through his black curls, acknowledging the fact that he is in desperate need of a bath. In the little kitchen, he turns the knob to the old faucet and listens while the pipes rattle to life, actually relieved that he doesn’t have to go back outside and prime the pump.

Dali fills and places a big silver pot of mostly clear tap water on the hob and snaps his fingers. Immediately, the pot begins to boil. It takes five trips from the kitchen to the old tub to fill it enough to bathe in, but once his task is complete he grabs for a bar of soap and sets himself to rights. After washing, he leans back to enjoy what remains of the warmth and mulls over which way of reappearing at the door of Weston’s Apothecary would be the best: human or feline?

It would be best if Missy were the one to welcome him, because he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get over the fact that the older sister, Harriet, just smells _off_ somehow. Where Missy is butter and sugar, the other woman is fried potatoes and… _something_. Some odd “Missy, why do you insist on feeding that cat?” Harry Weston grumbles as she scrubs the inside of an empty brown glass potion bottle with a bit too much force. The brush she’s using catches then bends on the lip of the bottle in her hand, effectively sticking in place. She growls and dashes the whole mess to the floor, causing a cascade of suds to pour over the side of the sink. A handful of rebellious bubbles float up towards her face and pop, showering her with thousands of tiny rainbow-colored crystals.

Anyone else would at least crack a smile. Harry is less than amused.

“Sis, why don’t you just use your magic?” Missy queries, daintily stepping over the puddle as she enters the kitchen carrying tonight’s empty plate. She casually waves her right hand, calling several big, fluffy towels seemingly out of thin air then she points her left index finger towards the sudsy wet patch. They plop down into the mess and Harry frowns.

“You don’t have to clean up after me again, Missy.” Harry crosses her arms over her ample chest and willfully ignores the confetti decorating the top of her head. Water drips from her fingers and leaves dark tracks against her sapphire blue robes. Annoyed, she shakes the rolled up sleeves back down to her wrists. She runs shaky fingers through her short, spiky, ash blonde hair; tiny colorful prisms glide from it towards the floor.

Missy sighs wearily and leans against the table, thinking that the hair raking only serves to make Harry look even more eccentric than she usually does: last week she decided her hair should be bright blue. It really was too bad that it actually went puce for three days, the blue was a nice shade.

“Oh, Mister Cat? I don’t know, Harry, there’s something _different_ about him.”

“He’s a cat, Missy. See-Aye-Tee, cat,” Harry grumbles. At her feet, the towels are soaking up water and soap as if pushed over the wood by a human hand. “Never mind the fact it’s another mouth to feed,” Harry mutters, mostly to herself.

Missy reflects on the rather comical love-hate relationship her sister shares with their sort-of pet. The one and only time Harry tried to touch him, he hissed and drew his rather impressive set of claws. Since then, Harry has decided she hates cats and the cat doesn’t seem to be bothered much about it either way. Missy considers the many people who have reacted the same way to Harry and inwardly shrugs; it is her lot in life to get along with people oft labeled ‘difficult.’

Using the same unspoken spell as her sister, Harry points at the now sopping towels then at the sink. They drape themselves over it in order to drip down the drain. She scratches at her head and sighs wearily, disturbing the confetti in her hair. “I’m sorry, Missy, I just really thought that the ShiShi flowers would be a hit with the twenty-something crowd, you know?”

Missy doesn’t answer, only nods; there’s no reason to keep beating that particular dead horse to an unsightly pulp. Harry gives her a one-armed hug and says goodnight then leaves the kitchen, shoulders hunched and eyes on the wooden floor beneath her bare feet. Missy watches after her, almost offering a cup of tea, then thinks better of it and whips one up for herself in no time at all without ever physically touching the stove.

Long after most people in Lambden have turned in, Missy Hillard nee Weston sits at her kitchen table surrounded by stacks of paper and a large accounting book. The expression on her face says it all; an expression she keeps locked away except in these wee hours of the night. It is times like this that she misses Jim the most. Granted, they’d only been married three months when he was shipped to New Zealand but they were happy ones and she reflects on them occasionally when things get rough with Harry. That brings her full circle back to her brother and she sends out a little prayer to the Goddess that Jack doesn’t return to her the same way Jim did: in a pine box. She thinks she can live out the rest of her life comfortably without ever having to go through _that_ again, at least until she’s old and grey.

Missy shakes off the depressing thoughts and holds on to the knowledge that Jack is a strong, brave person and more than a foot soldier; more than even a doctor, really. He hasn’t been fighting on the fright lines, but rather patching up the men and women who do. According to the gossip around town, the tide of the war has begun shifting and it seems the New Australians will soon have their nation back under their control. So, that’s something then. Something positive to consider while she stares at the tables of numbers without really seeing them.

Sometime around three in the morning, she packs it all back into the cupboard and takes herself to bed, hoping for good dreams that will take her thoughts off the store’s problems at least for a little while.

***

Not far from Missy, a man seven years her junior sits cross-legged on the moth-eaten carpeting of a run-down flat on the second floor of a building that’s been empty for some fifty years or so. Sheets of paper are spread around him in the otherwise empty room, some balled up and thrown while others are covered with messy scribbles and creased from his irritation with _writing_. The yellow candle floating above his head bounces lightly on the slight air current wafting through a crack in one of the windows. It throws charcoal shadows on the walls and over the mess. His left hand grasps a handful of his dark, wavy hair and he is biting the tip of his tongue between his front teeth in concentration at the task in front of him.

Dali clutches a stubby pencil in his right hand, carefully printing letters. This one is going better than the first ten and when he stops, he holds up the paper to admire it. He has only very rarely written or corresponded with another human being in over ten years and he is annoyed to find that some of his abilities remain rusty. He thinks that he’s got to practice this more than once a week if he’s ever going to return to his former skill level. Dali sighs. Some days it is just easier to be a cat, but he swore to himself the day he learned the skill that he would never let it overtake him. He firmly refuses to be anything other than a creature with the ability to walk in two worlds.

Reading, though, is one of the skills he retains no matter which form his physical body is in: he would have it no other way. His eyes flick over the page; satisfied, he folds the cream-colored paper in half and gracefully rises to feet.

Dali absentmindedly drags his fingers through his black curls, acknowledging the fact that he is in desperate need of a bath. In the little kitchen, he turns the knob to the old faucet and listens while the pipes rattle to life.

Dali fills and places a big silver pot of mostly clear tap water on the hob and snaps his fingers. Immediately, the pot begins to boil. It takes five trips from the kitchen to the old tub to fill it enough to bathe in, but once his task is complete he grabs for a bar of soap and sets himself to rights. After washing, he leans back to enjoy what remains of the warmth and mulls over which way of reappearing at the door of Weston’s Apothecary would be the best: human or feline?

It would be best if Missy were the one to welcome him, because he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get over the fact that the older sister, Harriet, just smells _off_ somehow. Where Missy is butter and sugar, the other woman is fried potatoes and… _something_. Some odd, oily scent hangs about her. It’s somehow familiar to him and it does spark a memory of some type, yet it is hard for him to grasp at the moment. No matter. He shakes his head to clear it then steps out of the tub. His body is heavy with exhaustion, and he realizes that the plate of venison tonight and the scraps of fish from last night are the only things he’s eaten in a week. The feline version of himself can barely exist on that, and the human side is suffering for it, as well. Tomorrow will be different, he thinks, setting it in his mind as a comforting mantra. He’s been in Lambden long enough to have met a few more of the locals, so it’s time to change his living situation, even just a little.

Dali yawns as he towels himself off then pads down the hallway towards the old fashioned broken down mattress covered in a nest of blankets that he sleeps in. The wooden headboard is long gone, but a shadow of where it once sat remains on the wall.

As he enters the dark bedroom, he runs his fingers over the faded wallpaper; its familiarity brings him comfort, helps him settle down. If he ever took the time to think about it, he would say that there is something ‘homey’ about it; yet he would never, because he prefers to dwell on what is happening now. The idea of ‘home’ was a long time ago and has no bearing on his current situation. Since his discovery of this power—and he was by anyone’s consideration a _late bloomer_ , this is the way he’s lived his life and he has no intention of changing it any time soon.

In the blink of an eye, his bipedal gait changes to one of a quadruped and the lean, black cat with wavy fur leaps from the floor to the bed. He settles down on a square pillow so worn that the Union Jack pattern on it can barely be made out. Dali purrs himself to sleep as rain patters the thin windows of his room, thinking that for the first time in as long as he can remember, he has something _more_ to look forward to on the morrow.

***

Miles away, in a thick forest in another land, Captain Jack Weston reclines on the ground against a large log, legs outstretched in front of him. He’s staring absently into the leaping flames, not really noticing the interplay of orange and yellow mixing with the bright blue of someone’s spell. The spell has created an unusual scent to permeate the air around him; it is relaxing to both the body and the mind. Beyond the reach of the flames, the forest is dark and filled with the sounds of wildlife; much better than the sounds of warfare and destruction that have been the background music to his life for the past three years.

Around the crackling, spitting fire, the soldiers under his command talk, write letters home, and at least in one case, pick at a vintage guitar dug up from who knows where. They are all winding down coming off an extended patrol and are, without a doubt, ready to head home. It’s been a long campaign and each and every one of them deserve a break: a few days on a steamship and they’ll all be able to rest and play to their hearts’ content. Only about half of them are going back to the war zone after their holiday, some, like Jack, are retiring for good.

Jack adjusts his spine in an attempt to get into a more comfortable position, but the sling his arm is in makes it almost impossible. Silently he wishes for quick healing if for no other reason than to be able to strip out of his filthy khaki uniform shirt. The other medics have done all that they can; none of them had any idea that their enemy has learned to mix some sort of potion that stops magical healing. The long cut that runs from the back of his shoulder and down over his collar bone burns with any movement. As much as he hates it, he knows that the idea of the sling is to stabilize his arm and keep him from tearing the scabbed-over wound back open. It is already beginning to itch like mad, yet his three broken ribs that hurt the worst, making riding a miserable hell so that at the end of the day, as for the past week, he sits on the ground while the others unwind with some type of normality, feeling old and useless.

A few more days, he tells himself as he closes his eyes, just a few more days and he can rest.

Between his index and pointer finger, the soldier grasps his sister’s most recent letter; it is filled with empty words of hope for their future. However, he easily reads between the lines: the shop is failing and they are going to lose everything. Everything that Momma and Papa left for them is almost gone; even with him sending home the biggest part of his pay packet every month, apparently the deficit is so great that something’s got to give or the three of them will be out on the streets. Jack sighs and fights back tears. It would do no good to be upset over this now, especially in front of his team. He tamps down his emotions and tries to concentrate on William’s almost-melodic guitar picking.

Sometime later, the fiery ache in his shoulder and down his side reminds him that sleeping out here sitting up is a big mistake. He’s tired, more worn out than a man of thirty summers should be, really, and the last thing he wants to do is go home and have to walk into the epicenter of the shitstorm that is their store’s problems. But he’s all the girls have and that’s the way things have been since their parents passed on; in a large part, that was the reason he agreed to join the Anglo-Ameranadian Forces in the first place: to help keep his sisters taken care of as well as taste a bit of the world for himself. He had already apprenticed to a pair of surgeons, one magical and the other not, before signing up, this experience helped propel him forward through the ranks. Over the last three years, he’s discovered many things about himself and one of those things is that medicine in this day and age is never boring. With the reemergence of the arcane arts into the population, those in the medical profession are constantly facing new challenges.

In front of him, the dying flames flicker and sway as the other soldiers move slowly towards their tents, calling their goodnights to each other and to him. He nods to those who catch his eye, answers others until silence settles around him, save for the popping, cracking of the wood beneath the hungry fire. It seems to be waiting on Jack to come up with a plan. He thinks he’s a long way from that…at least as far as he is from home, anyway.

The night grows so old that it fades into morning, yet Jack never moves, only contemplates the ashes left when the fire and the questions he only barely remembers makes way for the dawn.


	2. P1: Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dali helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 22 February 2015.

**-Chapter 2-**

Down at the marketplace beside the docks, surrounded by the intermingling smells of fish, salt and an underlying odor of mold, the black cat meanders between vendors’ boots and sailors’ bare feet. His presence is a familiar one to many of the people and some reach down and run a gentle hand along his back or give him a quick scratch under the chin. He avoids those who pull away from him, have too many secrets to hide, or those not useful to him in some capacity; yet, to the uninitiated, his choices look random.

Huge blue-grey pelicans and tiny black sea gulls call out to him and to each other as they circle in the mild air above the docks, their bright yellow beaks snapping hollowly in irritation. They are opportunists and the fish mongers learned a long time ago to never leave their wares alone too long lest one of the birds enjoy a free meal. There are dogs in several of the stalls, old hounds that don’t even waste their breath barking at him, real animals like the cats that clamber on and off the ships and boats hunting mice and rats. As always, the black cat is practically the most unique creature in the vicinity…a combination of human and animal.

Beneath Dali’s paws, the swollen, creaky wooden decking smells of last night’s rain and this morning’s catch. Trotting along the waterside, a neatly folded piece of paper clamped in his mouth, he begins making mental notes of all of the comings and goings of the people of Lambden, deciding in an instant who can be helped, who would appreciate it, and who to avoid at all costs.

A few individuals stand out from the crowd, however, and as he jogs, he swings his head from side to side, looking for one of them. The noises surrounding him become nothing more than a generalized murmuring when he finally sees the person he’s seeking: a tall, broad-shouldered man with a copper badge pinned to the front of his dark blue starched tunic that he wears overtop pristine white breeches. The man standing at the end of one of the docks, talking to one of the sailors, his hands flashing animatedly between them as he punctuates his sentences, one foot balanced on the deck of the boat, the other resting against the boardwalk, perfectly at ease in the surroundings.

Dali rubs himself against the man’s tall brown boot, not particularly liking the feel of the suede against his fur; even so, he’s immediately rewarded by a hand on his back and then he’s hoisted into the man’s arms. Dali plays his part well, purring and rubbing at the hands that pet his ears, even going so far as to give the man’s stubbly chin a head bump. The sailor that the policeman is conversing with says something that could be ‘see you later’ but Dali completely tunes him out; the sailor is a visitor here, only passing through, and means nothing to the wizard in the scheme of daily life in Lambden.

“Ah, there ya are! ‘ow are you, handsome thing?” Officer Robert Greyson smiles as he looks into Dali’s eyes. The cat blinks back at him and waits for the man to notice the paper in his teeth.

“What’s this?” Robert asks, gently tugging at the paper until Dali obligingly opens his mouth. One-handed, he awkwardly unfolds it and his eyes scan quickly what is painstakingly written there. “Are you sure?” he whispers. Dali blinks slowly as an answer. “Aye, mate, I’ll look into it.”

Greyson leans forward in order to allow the cat jump to down out of his arms, running a hand through his steel grey hair as he stands. Robert is one of a select few who know Dali’s true identity, and being the man that he is, never lets on that he knows. Funnily enough, whenever there is a serious crime in Lambden—and there’s really not much of it—Dali always seems to find him and appears with a similar note with details of said crime printed out in a neat, old-fashioned scrawl. Occasionally, Robert wonders just how old the shape-changing wizard really is, but he’s never had an opening where he felt comfortable enough asking. All told, their normal conversations take place like this and that’s rather a difficult question to ask a cat.

The copper watches the cat lope away from him: long strides eating up the ground, tail held straight in the air with the tip curled slightly, ears forward. He smiles again and, tucking the note into his pocket, continues his morning rounds that will most certainly involve a stop to the fruit and flower vendors’ stalls. Selling the rare ShiShi flowers under the guise of a love spell of sorts is an offense due to how many people are allergic to the plant. Whenever Greyson feels like he’s helping people, it adds a little spring is his step. Today is going to be a good day, he thinks as he heads towards the market, whistling a jaunty tune.

***

Missy Weston sings to herself as she sways back and forth in the kitchen. She does a little spin and the broom that’s been sweeping the floor by itself executes a neat pirouette beside her. Even going on very little sleep, Missy is content and the room around her is saturated with golden light. She tries hard to begin every day anew, even with the crushing weight of the store’s problems on her shoulders. The polished pine cupboards above and below the sink shine from the scrubbing a pair of sponges are in the middle of giving them.

Harry wanders right through it all without acknowledging her sister. She’s wearing a long cream-colored nightgown decorated with what was once gold lace at the bottom. It is threadbare, torn, and drags the floor as she walks, echoing her unsteady steps with swishes. Harry opens the top cupboard over the stove in order to pull out a dusty bottle of rusty colored liquid. Facing her directly after retrieving the bottle, Missy is taken by surprise by her sister’s blood-shot eyes and tear-stained face before she turns away and heads back towards her bedroom.

“Harry?” she questions her sister’s retreating form, one hand covering her mouth.

“Not now, Missy. Not now,” Harry’s voice is rough as it carries down the hallway. She slams the door, causing the broom to lose some of its energy and wobble drunkenly on the spot.

Missy shakes her head at Harry’s drama, squares her shoulders and waves a hand in the air. The spinning broom floats back into the depths of the house, followed by the sponges after they wring themselves out. The kitchen is still sparkling clean, but the bright golden light from earlier has faded.

Sighing, Missy straightens her pale tangerine tunic and makes for the front room in order to open the store, hoping beyond hope on at least one paying customer for the day and making a gargantuan attempt to forget the bleakness seemingly permanently etched on Harry’s features.

 

It just so turns out that Missy ends up with three customers before lunch. One of them, a policeman Missy has seen on his rounds down by the market, actually purchases a large bottle of Harry’s ShiShi extract potion. Another customer puts in an order for some wart cream that Missy can mix tonight and have available first thing in the morning. The third customer wanted nothing more than to chat, and Missy is okay with that, especially since the young woman was inclined to also leave a plate of freshly baked brownies behind. After a quick revealing spell over the confection proves that it is no more than what it appears to be, she carries the plate through to the kitchen. A partial sense of the contentment she felt from this morning returns as Missy counts out the new silver coins from the leather pouch she wears tied to her lemon yellow sash.

After stashing the money away in the jar above the sink, she whips up two sandwiches and takes one to Harry’s bedroom. She’s met only with silence when she knocks on the door. Beyond it, there’s a faint sound of snoring, so Missy decides to leave her sister alone for the time being. She eats her lunch alone at the kitchen table while she writes out the list of ingredients that will be useful to mix up the wart remover later. The brownies are soft and scrumptious and she has to fight herself not to eat too many of them. Funny how some things she hasn’t missed until faced with them again.

At two o’ clock that afternoon, Missy is reading behind the long counter she keeps stocked with extra potions on the off chance they might be needed. She’s still partially focused on the book in her hands and absently wondering about her brother when a long shadow falls over the pages. Missy looks up, completely thrown off kilter by the unusually bright amber eyes gazing down at her. A tall, lean man is standing so close to the counter she fancies she can feel his breath on her face.

“Mister Cat?” she squeaks then covers her mouth a second too late to stop the stupid words from falling out. It is quite presumptuous of her, she realizes, because of how rare wizards with shifting powers are, even in this day and age; but it’s the only explanation that makes sense. A quick flash of _something_ unnamable graces his sculpted features, confirming her suspicions.

The man smirks at her as he steps back away from the counter and drops into a rough little bow. His hands disappear beneath the long charcoal grey cloak he’s wearing when he elegantly bends at the waist. Missy takes in his dark purple tunic and black breeches when he returns to standing. He does not hold his hand out towards her, but the smooth brush of his deep voice on her ears feels like a formal first-time introduction, even though they’ve apparently known one another for quite some time.

“I’d like to extend my gratitude for providing me with meals,” he says as he gracefully pulls himself up to sit on the wooden counter, not even leading with the most obvious question.

“Well…” Missy stammers as her face turns the color of freshly boiled beets, “I didn’t know…”

The man shakes his head, causing a curl to fall over his left eye, “Not many are privy to my secrets.”

Missy nods, still feeling like she’s stepped into someone else’s bad spell. She swallows and drops back into her chair in order to take a deep breath and regain her composure.

“So, what can I do for you?” she asks, wincing against the still-shaken sound of her voice.

“Nothing, Missy Weston, I’d like to repay the favor.”

“What?” Of course he knows her name, three quarters of the population of Lambden know who she is, and sadly, what the Apocothery used to be.

He ignores the question as he spins around on the counter, booted legs dropping off the side facing her as he leans down to peer into her face as if she’s a particularly interesting new discovery.

Missy can only see _those eyes_. Though they are decidedly human, his pupils are not as round and carry a hint of the shape of the feline ones. She’s never felt so much like she’s being _read_ as she does right now. There’s a certain sense of electricity between them; experience has taught her that it’s _magic_ , though, and nothing that could be mistaken for sexual. For an instant, she thinks that is a bit of a disappointment, then wonders what he’s really doing here.

Somewhat befuddled, she asks again without hesitation, “Why are you here now?”

“Ms. Weston, I’m quite well connected throughout the city. I notice the Apothecary has run into some rough times. I’d like to offer my help.”

Missy frowns up at him. “Why?”

He seems as if he isn’t going to say anything at first, but then, “I knew your parents, Missy. Would that be a satisfactory answer?”

“No…Yes, I mean. That’s an answer, but doesn’t explain ‘how’ you think you can help me…I mean, us. Us. My sister Harry lives here, too.” She wonders to herself how that can be possible, if he’s a day over twenty-one summers she thinks she’ll start cleaning the kitchen the hard way. He couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven at the most when they passed on. After a few seconds of considering these things, Missy realizes that he’s talking to her and stops tripping over her thoughts.

“I am aware of your living circumstances. I am also well aware that Harry is currently doing nothing that could be mistaken for ‘helping out’ in any sense,” he states bluntly.

Missy is embarrassed at his honest words. “I don’t even know your name,” she queries, changing the subject.

“Dali,” he rumbles as he looks around the store, throwing his name out as if it means nothing to him. “I find myself in need of a distraction at the moment, and I do believe this will do nicely.”

“A distraction?” Missy wonders aloud, “So, the offer isn’t for real? You’re just bored?” Of course, it’s too good to be true. She tries to stand up but he blocks her way with his feet.

“You misunderstand me, milady,” he says, bending his torso and stretching his arms out wide in obeisance. “I am the type who needs to have something to work for, something to accomplish. As of two years ago…well, that’s not important. What is important is that you need some help around here, and I’m just the man to do it.”

Missy puffs up like an angry Banty hen. She crosses her arms over her chest and something inside her seems to snap.

“So that’s it then! You see two women trying to make something of themselves, something of what remains of their inheritance…and you, you what? Decide that there’s not enough phalluses around?” She’s on a roll now; standing, she roughly shoves his feet out of the way so she can stick her index finger right in his face. In the back of her mind, she knows this type of behavior is way out of line, but right now with Harry and the store and not knowing if Jack’s okay…this is just _the_ last straw.

“I’ll have you know, _Mister_ , that my brother is on his way home now and he’ll…he’ll…help…” her righteous tirade dissolves into miserable tears that she wipes on the hem of her tunic.

Dali pats her shoulders and pushes her gently back into her chair. “I think you liked me better this way.” Snapping his fingers for a dramatic effect that is lost in the moment, he instantly changes into the black cat, clothes and cloak dropping into a puddle at Missy’s feet. The cat leaps lightly into her lap and she strokes his back and cries quietly.

The noise of the house and the city beyond settles into a soft drone, and there are no more customers.

Harry cracks open her door and listens to the sound of her sister’s weeping. In sympathy, her eyes grow moist and she balls her hands into fists. She does not come out of her room again that day.

***

Jack’s body sways with the pitch of the deck beneath his spread feet; a light spray cascades over him, leaving a trail of silvery drops in his hair and beading on the toes of his black boots. The grip of his good hand is tight enough on the rail in front of him that his knuckles blanch. He tries hard to look at them and not the rolling water beyond the handrail. Shifting with the motion, he closes his eyes, thinking that may help quell the nausea he is experiencing at the creaking, shaking, pitching, and rocking of the steamboat. Besides the sounds of the engines, there’s not much else that can be heard over the water slapping the hull as the ship cuts through the rough sea before the harbor.

The other men and women of his team are in their bunks or down in the galley playing cards and soaking up the camaraderie. The horizon doesn’t seem so far away as it did earlier; knowing his team is still there, even engaged in pursuits out of the immediate vicinity is reassuring. After all this time with them, home seems like a new word, a rough rock pulled from the ground, made to tumble over and over in his mind until it is polished and smooth like a priceless gem. Perhaps a cat’s eye sapphire. He idly wonders what one of those would be worth now and hopes that Missy hasn’t had to sell of what remains of their mother’s few pieces of jewelry.

With that thought, something inside his chest constricts so tightly that it burns. He admits to himself that he is nervous about returning home after being gone for so long: the problems with the shop just compound it. It has been a tough four years and he’s not exactly returning as a hero—most people in Lambden are so far removed from the fighting half a world away that he hopes he’s going to be nothing more than a momentary curiosity to the majority of them. They’ve got more to think about, such as surviving and taking care of their own families than who he is and the things he’s done.

Seen in that light, a turf war that truly doesn’t affect them in the long run is probably at the bottom of most people’s Things to Care About lists. Jack’s mostly okay with that, since it will prevent people in general from asking him too many questions that he doesn’t want to answer. If everyone is more concerned about where their next meal is coming from, it doesn’t leave much room to consider wars in far-away lands that may or may not ever have any bearing on their current situations.

That’s not to say that their country, the United British Isles, is still in the midst of a drastic economic downturn, because the vast majority of the people are keeping their heads above water, making ends meet. With the revival of some of the older belief systems, the renewal and repair of the magic energy that surrounds his homeland is like an invisible wall keeping out the majority of those who wish to do them harm. The heart, now, that cannot always be protected. There really isn’t any weapon that can forestall pain so deep it makes scars that will forever be felt just below the surface, regardless of those who enter or exit your life.

Jack opens his eyes as the engines begin to power down a bit. He stares ahead at the harbor, then looks over his shoulder as the sunlight bounces off shiny chrome in a starburst. Behind him on the bridge, the captain catches Jack looking and sends down a snappy salute from his window. Jack offers back a simple nod and the man smiles at him, weathered face tanned from so many years in the sun. He seems content with his life, or at least more content than Jack feels at the moment, anyway.

As he turns back to watch the seabirds circling overhead, it hits him then that he is _lonely_. Never one for long, meaningless relationships, neither would he not ever be accused of turning down a one-night stand, especially over the past four years. He’s tired of the emptiness, tired of waking up alone and really, just plain _tired_. This isn’t the way he wanted to come home: worn out and almost useless to anyone but his sisters…and maybe not even them. Really, loneliness is at the top of the heap of things he is currently concerned about.

 


	3. P.1: Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 23 Feb 2015

**-Chapter 3-**

Jack’s daydreams continue to waltz and tango through his mind as the steamboat pulls into the harbor and up to one of the many docks jutting out into the water. The captain passes him with a hearty slap to the uninjured shoulder; still it’s strong enough to make him rock back on his heels, still feeling as if the deck is bucking and rolling under his feet. He takes a deep, steadying breath and heads towards the ramp, mind still heavy with his earlier thoughts and recollections.

Jack does a double-take when he starts to step off the boat, soon finding himself not exiting an empty ramp as expected but suddenly walking down an open aisle created by the bodies of his team, fully dressed in their uniforms down to spit-shined boots and rakishly-angled dark blue berets. Unconsciously, his posture straightens and he steps across the planking with his head held high. Jack takes the time to speak to every one of them, his good hand tight around the strap of the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. They murmur gratitude and congratulations, then wish him luck in his retirement from service and in whatever pursuits he decides to follow. A few of them even hug him.

As he reaches the end of the wharf nearest the market stalls, there are arrows shot high into the sky, after that, the whole team clicks their heels and salutes in unison. A beautiful show of camaraderie and respect, and it takes away a bit of the weight Jack has been carrying on his shoulders; he would swear the whole thing had been rehearsed if it weren’t for the blushing cheeks and smiling eyes of many of his team members. Without a doubt, he is going to miss each and every one of them.

Jack turns away with a wave and ducks his head, hoping that none of them can see the tears on his face. He adjusts his duffel bag across his shoulders, thinking that it is best to keep moving forward without looking back. Surely they will all understand.

Taking a few steps across the creaking wooden pier, he stumbles a little against the onslaught of emotion threatening almost strong enough to force him to his knees. Shaking, he grabs at an old, rusty lamppost. The metal shakes as he wraps his hand around it, but doesn’t give. Jack holds himself steady against it, stubbornly not turning around and looking back at his team. With any luck, they’ve dispersed by now, all gone their separate ways. His shoulders droop and he hangs his head, the heat of conflicting emotions threatening to tear him apart: it is equally good to be home and terrible to be here again after all this time, in a city that’s been nothing but a memory and a few lines scratched in the margins of letters from Missy. In reality, Lambden hasn’t changed much in four years. Jack holds onto that thought and allows it to stabilize him.

After a few moments, the dizziness fades and permits him the chance to take in the sounds of the docks and market. The familiar noises are a tangle of muted voices, the occasional bark of a dog and the slap of the water beneath the wooden planks. Jack looks up towards today’s clear sky and takes a deep breath that fills his lungs, recognizing the scent of both fried and fresh fish that comes along with it. His stomach grumbles a bit and it is then that it hits him how much he’s missed this place. Rolling his shoulders and stiffening his spine a bit, he swings his bag back up and starts towards the nearest food stand.

Leaning on the wooden plank that serves as a makeshift counter waiting for his order, Jack jumps a little in surprise when something brushes against his lower leg. The surprise thing turns out to be a large black cat with wavy fur and broad paws winding its way between his duffel and his leg. The animal stops and sits down, peering up at Jack behind blinking amber eyes.

“Hello there,” Jack says as he brushes his fingertips against the top of the cat’s head. It bumps at his palm and he finds himself smiling. He scratches under the cat’s chin and picks up on the unmistakable vibrations of magic. His fingertips tingling, Jack pulls his hand back and starts to say something, but the fish vendor taps the counter to announce his order is ready. Jack retrieves his meal and thanks the man. By the time he turns back to the cat, the animal has disappeared.

“Well, welcome home to me, I guess,” Jack mutters around a mouthful of crispy breading and soft white meat. Idly, he wonders why neither of his sisters are here to greet him, partially glad they weren’t here to witness the send-off that his team gave him, mostly because he still isn’t entirely sure how he feels about it. The crowd ebbs and flows around the pier; Jack finds himself looking for the cat in between. Once his meal is gone, he has no excuse to stand here and continue to look about, so he retrieves his bag from the ground at his feet, tosses his oily fish paper into a bin near the vendor’s stall and sets out towards the heart of the city and home.

***

“Jacky!” Missy shouts as she excitedly leaps against her brother’s chest before he’s got his first foot over the threshold. He grunts as she makes contact and the bell over the door jingles merrily as if it, too, is happy to see him. He grins against the top of her head then ducks to kiss her cheek. A pair of customers that have been browsing the shelves stop what they are doing and watch the siblings reunite.

After a moment, Jack holds Missy at arm’s length one-handed and takes her in, then looks around the shop, feeling oddly out of place in his uniform but at the same time equally at home.

“So that’s why you didn’t meet me at the pier,” he says, tilting his chin in the customers’ direction as they turn back to their browsing.

Missy blushes and nods. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you kidding?” Jack asks her, “I’d much rather have you busy here than standing about out there waiting on me.” _Not to mention that I’m glad you missed my overly-emotional send off,_ he leaves unsaid.

The customers are now patiently waiting to be checked out. Missy leaves Jack by the door with a pat on his arm and goes to ring them out. She tears a piece of brown wrapping paper off the roll beneath the counter and folds the dried purple herbs they are buying into it. In a heartbeat, the parcel is hidden in a robe pocket and coins change hands. It only takes about thirty seconds for the entire transaction to take place. Something about it bothers Jack, though he cannot exactly place why that would be so.

As the couple move past, they offer him respectful smiles and he nods in return. Their eyes skate over him and both of them pull their hoods up before stepping out the door. Jack writes it off as people just being strange. Perhaps they are protecting their heads from the sun; after all four years is a long time as far as popular customs go.

Missy sweeps by and flips the sign in the window. “Tea?” she queries, seemingly oblivious to the odd behavior of her customers.

“Of course,” Jack answers, leaving his duffel bag by the counter on his way to the kitchen behind her. Surely there will be time to contemplate all of this later.

Missy gathers the tea things together without speaking, using a simple wave of her hand. Jack takes his seat and stirs a heaping spoonful of sugar into his favorite white ceramic mug while Missy watches him carefully.

“Tell me, Jack, how’ve you been?” she asks as she blows lightly on her steaming cup.

Jack sighs, “Better now, Melissa.”

“Don’t do that, please. Things have been such a…” Missy trails off, turns her head towards the back of the house where their bedrooms are, then back to Jack. “Things have been so up and down, you know, I’d like to have a normal conversation.”

“Do what?”

“Evade. Please don’t. We have so much to talk about, Jack, I don’t want us to start out this way,” she tells him through unshed tears.

“Tell me about your day, Missy. Let’s start there, okay?” Jack coaxes gently, not ignorant to the way the light seems to bend in unusual angles around her, almost as if the sun streaming through the clear glass windows is being refracted through water.

“Alright,” Missy nods lightly. “That’s a good place to begin,” she sniffs. The light changes and now the kitchen is as bright as the day outside.

After that, both siblings relax considerably, allowing their conversation to flow more naturally. She explains the new business the Apothecary shop has picked up in the last week and completely leaves out the ShiShi flower incident. No sense in beating dead horses.

“It’s been somewhat odd, though. People come in and make their purchases, which isn’t unusual, but they’ve been requesting smaller potion bottles and pouches than we’ve used before. Everyone seems more comfortable once they tuck their stuff away, almost as if they are ashamed.”

“Odd,” Jack answers. In all the places he’s been the past few years, he’s never seen anyone—whether magicker or partaker of said art—to seem ‘ashamed’ at the proximity of it. Certainly not when said art was saving lives and limbs out on the battlefields. Comfortable silence settles between them and it is almost as if the four intervening years disappear altogether.

“Is Harry going to come out and talk to me?” Jack changes the subject abruptly in order to push away memories he refuses waste any more time on today.

Missy doesn’t push the subject, thankful to at least be able to share some of her observations with someone who won’t laugh at her for them.

“I wish I could answer that, Jack.”

“Tell me the truth, Missy. Are there any bottles left untouched?” Jack’s blue eyes turn to flint as his expression hardens.

Missy shakes her head, still unwilling to discuss it overly much. Jack watches her closely for a few minutes then pushes his chair away from the table and stands up.

“I’m going to rest awhile, then I’ll take a look at the books. Alright?”

“Absolutely, Jack.” Missy waves her hand again and the tea things vanish.

Jack chuckles and gives her a one-armed hug. “It’s nice to be home.”

“I can get your bag, if you like.” Missy offers, raising her hand again, eyes on the sling over his chest.

“No, I’ve got this,” Jack grins at his sister. Very slowly he holds his good arm wide away from his body and the bag makes its entrance, clanking slightly as his toilet kit gets jostled about.

Missy giggles behind one hand. “When, Jack?”

He beams proudly as the duffel bag bounces up and down as it marches saucily towards his bedroom. “About a year ago. It started with healing small wounds and then, this.” He makes a pushing away motion with his hand and the bag zooms away. They both hear a _whump_ as it hits the bed in his old bedroom.

“That’s wonderful, Jacky! That makes all three of us then. Mum and Dad would have been so proud of you.” Missy hugs her brother tightly, taking care not to put too much pressure on his wound. They are almost the same height, though he’s got just enough on her to rest his chin on her crown.

“What’s all this, then? A loving brotherly moment?” Harry says in a gruff, irritated voice from the shadowed hallway.

“Aye,” Jack agrees as Missy lets go of him. He and Harry size each other up for a few seconds, the air between them turning frigid and brittle with things best left unsaid.

“So,” Harry states in an eerily calm tone, “You’ve been out gallivanting the world and you come back with a few parlor tricks? What do you really think you’re gonna’ accomplish here, Jack?”

Missy makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat and starts to step away from them; the quality of the sunlight changes again, this time to a deep vermillion. Instinctively, Jack moves closer to Harry, effectively putting only himself in her line of sight.

She looks weak and exhausted, her hair in disarray, dark circles under her eyes. Harry’s nose is red at the tip, her lips are chafed and her cheeks wan. Jack hasn’t missed the slight hint of a slur undercutting her words.

“Maybe you should go back to sleep, Harry.” Jack suggests with a shrug.

Harry snorts. “Always the one to believe what you what to believe. I’ll have you know I wasn’t _sleeping_.”

“I’ll bet full well you weren’t doing anything constructive, unless you call staring at the bottom of a bottle…”

Harry doesn’t let him finish his retort, though, before scowling and spinning on her heels. Hunter green robes billow out behind her as her feet pound against the wooden floor. The bedroom door slams hard enough that Jack is sure people out on the street can feel it.

“That went well,” he says drily. Beside him, Missy hangs her head and begins to cry. Jack pulls her into him and waits it out, thinking that there is certainly more wrong here than merely the store’s money problems.

***

About the same time Jack is doing his best to soothe his baby sister’s nerves, Dali is standing amidst the mess of his flat completely naked, staring off into the middle of nowhere. He can still smell the fish that the soldier at the pier was eating and hear the sounds of the marketplace around them. Funny, though, he cannot remember anything after the soldier touched him because his mind was almost _broken_ by the strength of the magic apparent in the man’s gentle caress. It is as intriguing as the display of the now-retired veteran’s respectful send off. Absently, he taps at his chin as he paces the floor, chasing the light and the shadows from the mismatched windows across the patchy carpet.

Like everyone else in town, Dali knows who the soldier is, of course: Melissa and Harriet Weston’s brother. The middle child between the two girls, it is obvious from his relaxed manner that finding his magic was no shock to him; though from the snippets of gossip Dali has caught wind of in the market, apparently Jack Weston is a very late bloomer. The grapevine has it that when he left he could barely mix up the potions and spells Weston’s Apocothery is so well-known for.

Now that he considers it, Dali realizes that his appearance was no shock, either. Either Jack doesn’t recognize Dali for what he is or Jack is so comfortable with shape-shifters that the idea is a familiar one not worth remarking upon. There’s something _unique_ about the man, though. Something _more_ \--and Dali cannot put his finger on it.

He contemplates all of these things, then wonders if helping out the Apothecary shop is going to be as beneficial to him as he first envisioned. He can’t stop now, though, because he feels that he’s getting close to an answer as to why magickers seem to suddenly be less open, and what better way to discover things about magickers than to be with them? Besides, he’s given his word and he honors that above all else.

With that thought, the young wizard sits down on the floor and crosses his legs. He rifles through a stack of paper and lays several sheets out in front of him then snaps his fingers and recalls the stubby pencil he used to scratch out his latest note to Greyson. He scans the pages, eyes moving rapidly between the painstakingly neat columns of his own cramped handwriting. So far, there’s been nothing unusual enough in Lambden to make him think that anything major is going to happen anytime soon, so he decides to stick to his original plan and continue to feed information to Officer Greyson as well as help out the shop, too.

Perhaps in between all of that, there will be time to strike up a conversation with Jack and find out why the soldier is so intriguing. Satisfied that his plans are solid, Dali closes his eyes and reaches down into the most primal part of himself in order to drop back into the cat’s body. Discovering that he is exhausted from wandering about the market all day, he curls up right where he is, careful not to crease any of his papers, even as he begins to dream of a sunny smile and freshly fried fish.

***

Jack naps fitfully, his mind filled with images of all the injured he’s tended during his service. All the faces eventually fade into his sisters’ and he wakes up breathing hard and slightly panicky. Realizing that he’s home now, in his old bed, surrounded by the musty scent of clean but unused line, Jack relaxes again. His wound is throbbing, so he sits up against the headboard and rests his other hand atop the injured one. The healing spell comes slowly; he allows the melodic words to roll off his tongue softly, each one as carefully formed as a benediction. Silently, he gives thanks to the Goddess.

Stretching his legs out in front of him, Jack pulls the sheet up around his waist and gazes about, still feeling more than a little out of place. It was so wonderful to see Missy today, but Harry…well, apparently hasn’t changed at all. If anything, it seems as if her intractable disposition has gotten worse in the time he’s been away. A hint of the old anger comes back to him and he clamps down on it, glad that he’s alone. Counting slowly backwards from one hundred, he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the old wood. Eventually, he drifts off a little bit, his mind still full of memories fresh enough to smell, taste and hear the marketplace and the pier; at some point he remembers the wavy-coated cat, as well.

Finally rousing himself, Jack swings his legs over the mattress and calls his duffel over. Unzipping it, he digs about for something to wear that is as far away from his uniform as he can get. Ultimately, he settles on a soft pair of trousers and a faded old tunic that was black at some point but has seen so many washings in so many places that it is best described now as charcoal grey. Jack slips the shirt over his hand and tugs at the hem, finding it unusual that instead of feeling the worn cotton, he is experiencing a sensory memory of silky fur. He thinks no more about it, however, instead turning his thoughts towards the hateful task of auditing the account books.


	4. P.1: Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revised 26 March 2015

**-Chapter Four-**

A clear evening rolls in, allowing Jack and Missy to sit down to a small supper at the table in the kitchen. Harry comes out of her room as they are tucking into their stew, shrewdly she says nothing to either of her siblings before stomping out through the shop and slamming the front door. Jack raises his eyes to Missy who closes hers and shakes her head slightly from side to side, absently rubbing her index finger over a non-existent spot on the clean wooden tabletop.

So, they aren’t going to discuss their older sister’s stranger-than-normal habits? Is that it? Jack thinks then frowns. No. That is not on.

“Missy, tell me what has been happening here, especially with Harry. Did you two have a falling out of some sort—some sister thing that I’m not privy to?” He makes himself busy with a spoonful of stew, hoping that Missy will speak in the interim. The four candles floating above their heads flicker quickly in an odd manner that suggests to Jack that they may be a mirror of his sister’s feelings. This idea brings him up a short, he’s never thought about Missy’s candles in that manner before.

Funny how he didn’t notice these details prior to his own magic blooming in him. The soft golden light that reaches into every nook and cranny of the kitchen, caressing the age-smooth wooden cabinets and counters. It seems as if it’s always been there—always been a part of their lives. A little more of the homesickness that’s never left him all this time dissipates further.

Missy sighs, dropping her spoon into her bowl and pushing it away from her. She leans forward, crossing her arms on the table, steeling herself against the support of the old solid wood. It’s not like he doesn’t already know about the majority of it, she supposes.

“A month or so ago, Harry had one of her brilliant ideas,” Missy begins.

Jack takes another bite of his stew, patiently waiting. This is what he’s been waiting to hear; without a doubt the very facts that Missy had been leaving out of all her letters to him—the ones he could only guess at all this time.

“Yeah, well, you remember what those can be like,” she continues, “as badly as the shop had been doing, I really didn’t see the harm. But that was before I realized that the plant she was picking up so cheaply at the market created allergic reactions in about ninety-nine percent of the people exposed to it. At some point, the distributors were actually jailed for being public dangers.”

“Right, the ShiShi flowers,” Jack acknowledges. He’d heard about them before; now was not the time for his opinion on how the situation was handled. Everyone believed the big, colorful flowers were harmless until someone along the line noticed that people who ingested the chemicals present in the flowers’ petals often felt…well, there was no other way to put it, really, other than: “You mean the ones that made people who stuck the petals under their tongues hornier than rabbits on the first day of Spring?”

Missy hums, suppressing a smile at her brother’s bluntness. “Yes, those. We, well I, did some research on them and the aphrodisiac properties of them are exactly what Harry claims them to be. Just, the side effects far outweighed their usefulness.”

“Did anyone…” Jack starts, using his spoon to underline the words he doesn’t say, amused at the spots of color that have appeared on Missy’s cheeks.

“Yes, three of our customers fell ill within a few hours. I was able to whip up some balm for two of them, but the other refused any treatment at all. I’m assuming she recovered once the extract was out of her system, but I can’t be sure because I never saw her again.”

Jack thinks this over: a failing apothecary shop selling herbs that caused people to fall ill? Yeah, that’s not a way to get back their old reputation. He shakes his head.

“And?”

Missy half-smiles wanly. “I don’t know, Jack. Things have actually been improving since then. You saw the shop this morning.”

Jack nods again, in full agreement. “Still,” he adds, “I think there’s more.”

Missy looks at the window, noting that dusk has fallen. “Oh,” she says, covering her mouth with her hand. There’s a new sparkle in her eyes. “Well, I guess I also have a bit of a pet, so that’s a good thing.”

“How do you have a ‘bit’ of a pet?” Jack wonders why having a pet would make Missy feel the need to hide her smile.

“Well,” Missy hesitates, waving her hand in a graceful arc between them. “Let me show you,” she says as she conjures up an empty plate then spoons out a dollop of stew onto it before getting up from the table. She’s more than a little excited to see if Jack’s new-found magic will allow him to see her pet for what he really is. He follows her through the store.

Missy steps out onto the porch first and sets the plate on the stone, then sits down beside it. She snaps her fingers and the gas lamp hanging beside the front door bursts to life with a flourish, the bright purple flame instantly flickering into life. After she’s satisfied with the lighting, she looks up to her brother. He’s observing her warily. “Oh come on,” she chuckles, poking him in the side with her elbow, “this will be fun.”

Jack rolls his eyes, because he doesn’t think so, then copies her and sits down on the other side of the plate, elbow resting on his thigh in order to rest his injured arm. He relaxes his fingers and adjusts the sling with his other hand as darkness begins to fall around them. Missy is quiet so he takes her lead and remains that way, too. Just when he is about ready to head back into the house, something moves in the shadows then a dark-colored feline trots up the steps.

The black cat stops in the circle of lilac-hued light cast from the lamp. As he watches the animal give his sister’s leg a head bump, he gets the impression that he has seen it before. The cat winds its way around her ankle then daintily chooses a morsel of meat from the plate. It chews slowly, regarding Jack with amber eyes that seem to have a golden glint behind them. Eyes that are almost too intelligent for an animal. Recognition drops on Jack like a brick from a crumbling building. That’s the cat from the market this morning!

“I saw him this morning, at the market.” Jack holds out his good hand out for the animal to sniff. This time there is no mistaking the tiny spark of blue energy that is emitted between them when the cat’s nose pad makes contact by brushing lightly against the skin of the heel of Jack’s hand.

“Wow,” Missy breathes. “I didn’t even notice it the first time.”

Jack smiles fondly at his sister, never taking his eyes from the cat. He scoots on his behind until his back is against the door then raises his palm towards the sky. “Show yourself,” he orders calmly, letting his hand rest on top of the sling.

As if to answer, the cat blinks at him, turns away from the shop to face the road. He crouches down on his haunches and in seconds there’s a tall, curly-haired, slightly tanned young man sitting on the step with his back towards Jack.

Jack gulps, partially thrilled that his freshly learned spell-command worked so quickly and partially mortified that the man is completely nude.

“Uh,” Jack says unhelpfully, sure that he has just made some sort of magicker faux pas.

Missy giggles behind her hands. “Jack, meet Dali. Dali, this is my big brother Jack.”

The man turns to look over his shoulder and Jack feels a bolt of pure power travel down his spine to his toes. Ocher eyes that are so very feline and human simultaneously regard him shrewdly before Dali smiles and offers Jack his hand, obviously unoffended.

Jack is a bit afraid to touch him again, but decency wins out and he shakes the young wizard’s hand; again the magic crackles between them but there is no pain, only a feeling of warmth akin to a tea cup that’s the perfect temperature to drink from. Fleetingly, he fantasizes that his heart stops completely for a few seconds when a deep voice rumbles from the thin, well-muscled body _right there_ in front of him.

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Weston.” Dali bows slightly, his movement made awkward by his proximity to the top step. He casts his eyes down to himself but when he meets Jack’s gaze again, he is unapologetic and unashamed. They simply watch each other for a few moments, getting a feel for who the other one is at his core. Missy goes inside and returns with a well-worn set of royal purple robes that Jack identifies as once having belonged to their father.

“Thank you,” Dali half-whispers as he slips the garment over his head. He clears his throat and stands up, once again offering his hand to Jack.

Jack accepts the help and pulls himself up. He’s never really considered how difficult it would be to stand up from the ground with one hand. Until now.

“Jack, please,” he says, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat.

“Would you like tea?” Missy asks their guest.

“Please.”

Jack gestures towards the door and follows Missy and Dali into the house. From the store, he can see the candles bobbing about the kitchen are fully blazing now. Their flames are a rainbow of hues from saffron yellow to sapphire blue. Jack takes the chair on the back of the table, with his back to the window so that he can observe the relationship between this wizard newcomer and his sister. They converse for a few moments and he is satisfied that there is nothing more than friendship between them.

It’s always best to be prepared and it would be completely idiotic to get between his sister and a new beau. Jack makes a mental note to ask Missy if there’s been anyone since Jim died, though he suspects the answer is negative.

Dali’s rich tones pull him out of his thoughts. “Jack, I do apologize if I’ve interfered.”

“What?” Jack asks, having not yet caught up with the conversation. Inwardly, he winces at his gruff voice next to Dali’s smooth one. Especially saying his name.

Dali gestures around them, the movement meant to encompass the whole house, not just the kitchen. “I never meant to intrude, I only wanted to help.”

“Right,” Jack answers, still a bit perplexed. Missy is staring at him as if he’s grown another head. He seriously considers checking his shoulder, but then it dawns on him.

“No, no, Dali, you misunderstand! No, the girls need as much help as they can get. Well, Missy is certainly thankful for it. I can’t speak for Harry, but I’m sure you’ve gotten the idea.”

“Indeed, I have, Jack,” Dali states sagely, their gazes once again locking over the table.

For a few seconds, Jack finds himself wondering exactly how much the shapeshifter understands about his family. Instead of asking, though, he takes a sip of his tea, which turns out to be very sweet and even the slightest bit spicy.

“What’s this?” he questions, holding up the thin brown stick he’s pulled from his cup.

Missy laughs and Dali smiles, seeming to enjoy their little joke.

“It started life as a cinnamon stick, Jacky, but I thought it’d be fun to add a little flair to it.” Missy giggles. “Sort of a ‘welcome home’ present.”

“What did you do to it?” Jack frowns as he studies the knobby thing. As he watches, ten tiny legs and what could only be two pairs of antenna suddenly poke out of the stick and it flips over in his hand. It gives a little squeak and runs across the table. Jack’s eyes track its movement until Dali lays his hand flat on the wood. He raises his index and middle finger and the stick/bug thing squeaks once more then goes still. Without any fanfare, it changes into a pile of rust-colored cinnamon.

Jack can’t decide if it is completely hilarious or kind of gross, so he shakes his head and sips his tea while his companions laugh in unison at their little joke.

***

In Jack’s thirty years of experience, his friends and lovers have always been the kind to come and go. Two weeks pass by and he finds himself captivated by the shape-shifter, then completely amazed at his ability to be captivated by anyone. He certainly had people on his team that he considered friends, many acquaintances, but he can admit that he’s never been as intrigued by another person as he is with the younger man.

It doesn’t help matters that Dali appears at the shop more often than occasionally, though it seems the majority of his “help” is sending customers their way. Mentions of Dali, even if not by name, are quickly becoming the norm as the customers admit to asking around for certain herbs and things; many are newcomers to Lambden and seem to find the Weston’s Apocothery charming. They pass out compliments and many shake hands with Jack, greeting him by name like long-lost friends, even those whom he’s never met.

Missy keeps herself busy during business hours helping the customers while Jack runs for whatever supplies he can carry. This arrangement permits them to spend more time than they have had between them for years getting to know each other again; as a result the siblings fall into an easy friendship that extends beyond being partners in business. The two of them move easily into a routine and Jack starts doing more as he heals. Life in general takes on a more golden quality, much less grey than before. He begins to recognize the feeling of ‘being necessary’ in himself again.

 

 

Late one evening, Jack is in the cellar shifting fifty pound bags of wheat that he received as his part of a trade he made for them in the market that day. The vendor dropped them off for him a couple of hours ago, but they were too busy to see to the sacks at that point. Now that it’s time to close up shop, he’s found the time to try and organize the mostly disused cellar in preparation for the coldest season. They’ve been busy enough the past couple of weeks that Dali has taken to appearing in the late afternoons to lend a hand, freeing up some of Jack’s time for household chores such as this one. Apparently Harry and Missy weren’t laying by too many supplies, both of them more comfortable with their own innate skills in conjuring up what they need than worrying about what they may need in the future as he had to spend more time sweeping the detritus of many years out of the way than actually stacking supplies. Tomorrow night he plans on asking Dali if he’ll help him split and stack some wood down here, on the off chance they’ll need it.

Even though the air outside is chilly, heralding the coming winter, Jack is stripped to the waist. He’s a little out of shape and sweat is pouring off his torso and leaving small stains about the waistband of his tan breeches in its wake. He’s stuffed a white towel into his pocket, using it for wiping his hands as he goes, making sure he’s able to keep a good grip on the wheat sacks.

With his arm still not up to one hundred percent of its former strength, it is taking Jack a little longer to do this chore that it would have before. He is moving the bags into a large wooden bin he built primarily for this purpose, concentrating on the job at hand and how good it feels to be able to properly exercise again, not really paying much attention to what is going on in the house over his head. Finally, the last bag goes in easily on top of the others and he stops to catch his breath and wipe his brow.

An excited sound from upstairs catches his attention. Soon after, there’s the strong thump of soft boot soles on the stairs and Dali’s face peers out over the rail. It is always easy to tell his footsteps from anyone else’s because he’s the only one that doesn’t kick his shoes off at the end of the work day. Jack’s beginning to accept that Dali always seems to think he’s got to be off somewhere, or maybe he just finds it hard to relax in general. He thinks of a few ways that might be helpful in that arena...he pushes these thoughts out of his head in order to do a quick tally of what supplies are still left to lay in.

“Jack, we have a customer.”

“Yes, we do get those occasionally,” Jack answers with a half grin, thinking that maybe he can get the bags of garlic and potatoes put into their new bins tonight, too. When Dali doesn’t reply, Jack looks over his shoulder at him, slightly glad that his messed up arm is out of the younger man’s line of vision because he’s at an angle to the steps.

Dali stands stock still on the staircase, pink tongue caught between his teeth and eyes seemingly unfocused.

Jack frowns and turns three-quarters to face the younger man, still uncomfortable with the idea that anyone else will see the still relatively fresh scars that mar his skin. “Are you feeling alright?”

There’s two heartbeats before Dali snaps out of his reverie. He shakes his head, brown curls bouncing with the movement. “No, this isn’t one of our usual customers. This is something I don’t think Missy or I can handle.”

With that, the shape shifter is gone, gently thumping his way back up to the kitchen. Jack shrugs, wipes his face again and retrieves his olive green tunic. He pulls it over his head and shoves his arms through as he climbs the stairs. In the short time they’ve known each other, he’s had no reason to disbelieve the wizard. If Dali says he can’t handle something, Jack trusts that he cannot.

Up in the kitchen, Missy has enough candles floating at the ceiling to illuminate the whole room. She has chosen a soft mint green for this evening, apparently. Jack has always marveled at his sisters’ ways with color and light. He swipes at his hair and shakes his head, hoping to knock a little of the dust and grime off.

As Jack enters the room, Dali steps back from where he’s been carefully cleaning blood from the face of a child. Jack can hear him speaking in soft tones to the boy who has a deep gash just over his left eye. It doesn’t look life threatening, but there is no doubt that the child is frightened. A young woman who Jack assumes is his mother or maybe an older sister, holds him tightly by the shoulders, her trembling fingers tight in the material of his crimson tunic.

“Hello there,” Jack murmurs as he moves closer. A little thrill runs through him when he thinks about using his healing spells. All these weeks home and there hasn’t been much call for them. He leans in a little, resting his palm over the woman’s on the boy’s shoulder. She takes a deep breath and relaxes, some of her tension leaving her by way of the healing touch.

“Missy, would you grab me a small bottle of the salve we mixed up last week?” Jack asks his sister in a low register, his eyes on the pair who’ve come seeking help.

“Sure,” she answers from behind him, taking her cue and remaining equally as calm.

“What’s your name, young man?” Jack keeps his full attention on the boy.

“Bradley,” the child answers, blue eyes opened wide.

“Well, there Bradley, this isn’t going to require any major surgery,” Jack pauses as the boy inhales worriedly, “but I am going to need you to hold a bit still for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Bradley whispers, obviously struggling to hold back tears. His little chin wobbles.

“That’s good then, would you mind to close your eyes for me, then?”

Bradley closes his eyes and leans back against the woman. She adjusts herself on the hard seat of the chair, allowing enough space to keep him comfortable. When Jack sees that they are both relaxed, he holds his hand out to Dali who is hovering at his side. Dali places the still warm rag in his hand and Jack swipes a spot of fresh blood from the wound. He then lays his palm against the boy’s forehead and gently places the heel of his hand over the wound, not quite touching it.

Bradley winces at the thought of the pressure. Jack tells him to open his eyes and as he does so, Jack does press against the gash for the shortest fraction of time necessary to allow the spell to take hold. Bradley smiles radiantly and turns around in the woman’s lap in order to throw his arms around her.

“Simma, did you see that? This man just _healed_ me!” Bradley crows in a voice of pure wonder.

Dali claps Jack on the shoulder. Behind them, Missy laughs lightly and Jack looks to see her blushing deeply and simultaneously wearing an expression of pride.

“You didn’t really need the salve, did you?”

“No,” chuckles Jack, “it’s been a while, though, and I wasn’t sure…”

Missy cuts him off with a shake of her head and both of them watch as Dali produces a candy lolly from nothing, long strips of taffy spiraling in a dance as a little white stick bobs in midair. Bradley accepts the candy with a broad smile.

“Thank you, Mister Doctor, sir,” he says happily before taking a bite from the top of his prize.

“You’re welcome Mister Bradley, sir,” Jack offers the boy his hand, not considering correcting him, mostly because he’s never been called ‘doctor’ before.

Bradley shakes Jack’s hand and steps forward to allow the woman to stand.

“What do we owe you?” she asks, tugging at the sash around her waist in order to retrieve her money pouch. The silk fabric of her tunic bunches then flattens out beneath the fine-grain leather strap of her purse.

Jack considers her question for a moment, silently counting the bags of supplies and food he’s been laying in for the past few days.

“You know, ma’am, I really don’t want your money.” Missy inhales noisily and Dali stares at him. Between them, Bradley’s mouth gapes. The woman blushes deeply and drops her gaze to the floor.

“No!” Jack says, a bit harshly, holding his hands out in supplication. “Not that, either. Why would you even…?” he shakes his head. “Never mind. I was thinking we could trade. Know anyone who’s got any spare fruit or veg?”

“Oh!” The woman exclaims. “Yes, let me see what I can do! You’ll have something by this time tomorrow. Thank you!” She reaches down and grabs Jack’s hand, squeezing it tightly between her own.

She and Bradley move towards the back door. Dali opens it and both of them smile up at him, too. He nods, a small smile gracing his lips. Jack watches as both of them pull their hoods over their heads as they move away from the house. He considers that, too, realizing that he’s been watching customers do that very same thing for the past weeks and cannot come up with a reasonable answer as to the purpose of the action.

“That was a wonderfully stupid thing you just did, Jacky.” Harry announces from where she’s perched herself on the counter nearest the sink. She actually beams at her brother and claps her hands together sarcastically.

An old tension made of more than simple sibling rivalry returns in a flash. He narrows his eyes at his oldest sister, ignoring the fact that Dali has disappeared and there is now a cat winding around his ankles. Missy picks him up and holds him out for Jack to scratch at his chin.

“Goodnight, Dali,” Jack tells the cat who purrs and blinks his agreement. He waits until he hears Missy open the front door before speaking. There’s no sense in upsetting everyone else when whatever is going on here is clearly between Harry and himself. Granted, he’s been a bit slow on the uptake as far as Harry’s concerned, but maybe they can finally settle it.

“What do you want, Harry?” He refuses to budge from his position in the center of the kitchen, resting his hands on his hips. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see on the floor the sapphire blue robes and black breeches Dali had been wearing. He has a strong urge to pick them up and see if they are as soft as they look by rubbing them against his face. He files that thought away for later perusal and keeps his eyes leveled on his sister.

“If you are going to continue to play your senseless mind games, leave Missy and me out of them, Harry.”

Harry crosses her legs, apparently making herself more comfortable. “What the hell, Jacky? You come in here after being gone so long and say this business needs to make money?” Harry takes a noisy breath. “You have a customer dressed in robes fine enough to be fit for royalty—she’s obviously got a wad of bills in her purse—do you realize how long it’s been since anyone of us have seen anything but coins--yet you let her just walk out of here? Trading something as rare as _healing_ for _fruits or veg_?” she spits.

“I healed the child, Harry. It cost me nothing. Since it was my spell, I do believe I have the right to charge, or not, anything I see fit. And I saw fit to trade for some more supplies for _us_ for winter. What’s your problem with that?” Jack clenches his jaw.

To his surprise, instead of replying, Harry laughs. It is a nasty, brittle sound that grates on his fraying nerves.

“You are so fucking clueless, you know that? Finally, a chance for someone in this family to actually make a profit and you do _that_!” she cries, pointing at the back door. Her face is turning red, her lips pulling back from her teeth in a snarl.

“What are you talking about?” Jack is sure there’s something else going on here that he’s not aware of yet.

Harry grins and shakes her head, causing the sea foam green strands to fall out of the neat coif she’s been wearing lately. “You know what? I’m going to let you figure it out on your own.” She jumps down and strides towards him, pointer finger aimed at his face.

Jack’s expression hardens.

“You and Missy, you are both so damned ignorant! You two go around believing the best of everyone but you can’t see what’s right in front of your face!”

Harry’s voice has reached beyond loud and is entering the territory of screeching when Jack grabs her hand, his strong fingers tightening around her wrist and putting just enough pressure there to get her attention but not actually hurt her. She’s off-guard for a moment then tries to withdraw from his iron grip.

“No, Harry, you listen to me,” Jack watches as her eyes widen then narrow as she sets her mouth into a firm line. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen up. If you need help getting out of a bad situation, all you have to do is ask. If there is something dangerous happening that will affect this household, you better be speaking up.”

She starts to protest by yanking her arm again. Jack answers by squeezing a little more. She stills.

“Don’t. You’ve been running amok for too long, Harry. If you’ve done something, it’s best if you come clean _now_ …” Jack grits his teeth.

Harry has the audacity to attempt petulance. “I’ve done nothing.”

“Yeah, well, of that I am aware,” Jack states sarcastically. He lets her go.

Harry whips her arm back so fast she almost catches Jack’s chin. He glares at her and she glares right back.

“I think you need to stay away from me for a while.”

Harry smirks, lets out that awful laugh again. “If things go the way they are supposed to, I’ll be out of both your perfect worlds here very soon.”

With that, she pivots on her bare feet and strides to her room. Jack tries to catch his breath and chews his tongue even as the sound of the door slamming echoes through the house. Oddly, she’s never mentioned Dali. Most likely she thinks he’s beneath her notice or perhaps pretending he doesn’t exist. Jack is familiar with both of those approaches; more proof that Harry hasn’t come very far from the spoiled, over-indulged girl that she was before their parents passed on. It’s not really his place to discipline her, but it is his place to make sure their household runs smoothly and if that means dealing with a Harry Weston brand tantrum in order to make it happen, then so be it.

Missy pads into the kitchen a few minutes later, hands Jack a steaming cup of tea and kisses his temple. She exits just as quietly, leaving virtually no sound in wake save for the swishing of her robes over the wooden floor.

Jack remains where he is a few moments longer, until he finally notices his own weariness and sits down at the table. He stares out at the darkness beyond the window and fiddles with the tag on the tea bag in his cup. Ever since they were children, Missy always knew what Jack needed when he was most upset. Of course, they had both weathered their fair shares of Harry’s moods over the years, yet this one tonight seems to have taken the cake.

Jack is lost in his mind when a soft click of a lock opening pulls him back to the present. He glances out the window and notes that midnight is fast approaching as the back door opens and permits Dali. Jack offers him a nod, fearful that if he says anything else tonight it is all going to come out overly harsh.

“I won’t be long, just need to retrieve my robes,” the wizard explains.

“Sure,” Jack states, turning back to the window.

Dali grabs his clothes from the bench and then drops into the chair opposite Jack. “Feel like talking?”

Jack considers that. “Yes and no,” he answers.

Dali nods. He snaps his fingers to provide himself with tea. They both sit silently for a little while, regarding the stars behind the panes that are growing frostier with the passage of the night.

Jack finds himself taking comfort from the other man’s proximity. Sometimes there simply aren’t enough words to say what he’s thinking, he needs to mull them over in his head, as he’s been doing. He moves his hand to take a drink of his tea and discovers that it’s empty. Sighing, he says “thank you.”

Dali’s expression is soft, very young but in some ways very wise. Jack wonders for a moment at the things that the other man has seen.

“Feel like talking?” he asks.

Dali’s lips curve up in a grin. “Feel like listening?”

Jack nods now and gestures towards the cupboards. Out comes a packet of chocolate biscuits. The tea kettle appears next, already piping hot.

“Well,” Jack says, pouring them both a cup, “might as well be comfortable while we converse.”

Dali accepts his tea and reclines back in the chair somewhat. “What would you like to know?”

“Tell me about shape-shifting.” Jack counters.

There’s a few beats of nothing and Jack thinks that maybe he should start with something less personal, then Dali takes a breath and starts talking.

By the time full dawn paints the kitchen light pink and sherbet orange, Jack is reliving his own memories of finding his magic and the two men have been through two pots of tea and an entire bag of biscuits.

Missy comes through about seven and finds them both fast asleep, heads resting on forearms. She wakes them up and Dali heads out; Jack stumbles to his room where he is asleep before his head hits the pillow. The last thing he remembers is his sister’s soft laugh as she closes the door. He dreams of glowing amber eyes and a voice as deep as velvet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note! I have not abandoned any of the fanfics I'm currently working on. I just have so much of this story already written that I need to work on it. I have to follow the Muse :) Please accept my apologizes and know that they are not abandoned.


	5. P.1: Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revised 28 March 2015

**-Five-**

For Dali, another cold early morning dawns silvery and overcast after another long night of falling temperatures and assisting “Doctor” Jack Weston with his ‘patients.’ The retired soldier seems to have come by the nickname naturally, and while out on his nightly feline walkabout, Dali has even heard it whispered in the oddest places, which in itself is not so unusual: people are always interested in what’s happening, and the return of a local hero is a subject many find worth of gossip. The majority of which is nothing to be concerned over. What bothers him most is not that the townspeople are talking about his new friend, but the very idea of _whispering_ in a town where most people generally feel free to speak their minds. It is irritating because he’s been unable to figure out exactly why everyone feels like they should be _whispering_ at all.

Back at his old flat, Dali mulls over that idea plus the one of neighbors who are more comfortable knocking on the door of almost complete strangers rather than going to their own physicians for help. He considers these things as he settles cross-legged on the old carpet next to a dusty grey pot filled with dirt. These people are really not too much trouble, as much as they are usually in need of something small… there’s always some new, interesting fact to be gleaned from them. He scoots forward a bit in order to lean over the pot and stares down at the knobby, twisted brown stump of what was once a healthy, broad-leaved house plant. An orphan that most people would have tossed out with the rubbish--sometimes he feels he has more in common with such things than the vast majority of Lamden’s human population.

It takes some effort for Dali to clear his consciousness and focus deeply until all he can see in his mind’s eye is Jack: Jack speaking carefully, always showing Dali each important part of the spell he’s using as they go. The retired soldier is easily as good a teacher as he is a healer, though he’s not yet had a chance to prove it to him. He takes a steading breath and rubs his palms together, building up what he thinks of as a ‘charge’ between them.

Deliberately, in the same way Jack does with a person’s injury, he cups both hands around the pathetic little stump of plant and works on experiencing whatever living energy still surrounds the thing. Fingertips tingling slightly, he moves his palms closer to the stump until he can no longer see it, feeling the slightest wisp of heat there. He lets his eyes slip shut and inhales deeply, allowing the stream of weak energy to move into his body on an inhale and coalesce with his stronger vitality, then deeply exhales it back towards the plant. A reward in the shape of a single crackling bolt of deep green energy arcs between his fingers and the stump. It doesn’t last long, yet Dali is satisfied with his efforts. Smiling slightly, he leans back, resting his hands on the edge of the pot.

“There you are,” the young wizard croons, amber eyes shining with pride. There’s now a single, tiny leaf growing from the top point of the wretched knot. Dali gives it a respectful nod then stands up and swipes the dirt off his hands onto his breeches. He hauls the pot upward and sits it down in the window next to one made of red clay; inside this pot is another plant, light green and a little farther along in growth. A thin, thread-like vine curls on top of the dirt with a tight wee bud that surely will be a flower with enough care. There are three more lined up on the opposite wall, all standing in front of or near the window in various distances, ranged in order by the size of the crocks.

Much to his amusement, he’s found that people practically give the decrepit things away when he asks, some even glad to be rid of them. Dali has done some research on these plants and found that years ago people used to keep many varieties in their homes. He understands the chemistry behind their organic respirations and how they ‘exhale’ oxygen into the air, but he doesn’t really understand what is drawing his interest to them; he’s never been one to bring guests or pets or anything needing his care into wherever he happens to be living for the moment. Of course, up until now, he’s never stayed in one place long enough to think of it as ‘home.’ For that matter, the house his parents…

“No,” he says out loud to the mostly-empty flat. Dali steels himself against those thoughts and reconsiders how he is hoarding the leafy things and the reasons why he’s doing it.

Perhaps he’s keeping his newly acquired skills quiet because there simply isn’t anyone to show that he’s been adapting well to the lessons Jack is teaching him. Perhaps he has simply learned that he likes a bit of company, but as a shape-shifter with a feline alter, he prefers not to have the company of other animals. Well, most of them anyway. However, if he were capable of admitting it out loud, the truth is that he really only wants Jack’s company, an anomaly in his life so rare that he doesn’t remember the last time it happened. For a minute, he lets his thoughts stray back into territory best left alone. He changes position, stretching out flat on his back on the floor, the large window he’s spent several hours cleaning to his left side.

A strong memory of the way Jack looked in the gloomy cellar light a few weeks ago flashes through his mind. The clearest detail that stands out is the glossy sheen of sweat over the other man’s skin as he picks up sack after sack of wheat, tossing each one into a precise location in the big wooden bin with a whump and a puff of chaff. Dali always loses track of time watching Jack work: there’s some strange rustic-ness about it that always leaves Dali wanting more. He remembers wanting to get close enough to smell Jack’s musk as well as reach out and do something as easy as _touch_ then found himself disappointed because he just _couldn’t_ bridge the gap the in the same way Jack does, for all that he’s learned from the other man.

Jack touches others easily, his sister, friends, even his patients. Yet, unless Dali is in his cat form, it seems that Jack never touches him, except for those few times when they first met. Why would that be? The magic is certainly strong between them. Now he’s curious as to why Jack would avoid it.

Outside the window, the sun’s brilliance pulls him from his contemplation, forcing recognition that he’s hungry and should get a few hours’ rest. It hasn’t exactly been easy breaking his nocturnal habits, though his reasons for doing so have been well worth the effort. Dali yawns, sits up and idly scratches at the back of his neck as he notes pleasantly that this morning he’s feeling less worn out than he has after attempting the healing spells over the past few weeks. The first time they tried it, Dali found himself swaying on his feet where he stood—it took that much out of him and made him realize just how strong Jack’s innate magic must be. It was difficult, but he had to accept first off that he had not yet come far enough along in his learning of the healing arts that even the simplest spells would drain him of his energy and make him need a long rest. Last night’s visitors were mostly head colds and fevers, but there were also a good number of them more than what could be considered the usual turnout, certainly injuries and wounds that no mere apprentice could handle alone.

Dali stretches and rolls his shoulders, then looks around the room to see if he’s forgetting anything. He snaps his fingers and conjures up a watering can that passes over the plants slowly; its job done, it shimmers and disappears. Over the past days, he has straightened up around the place and even added a couple of pieces of furniture, making what was originally just a bolt-hole into something more resembling a home. He owes no little bit of gratitude to Jack for this, as well.

Jack has taken to cleaning out the big room behind the kitchen of the Weston’s house. Once he began hauling the miscellaneous detritus and extra inventory that had been piling up for years out of the way, it was a big surprise to find the informal sitting room still intact, walls and floors relatively unharmed by the lack of proper care.

The desk and two chairs that populate Dali’s flat now are there because the Weston siblings could find no room for them in the house. Or so Missy and Jack said; Dali has reason to believe that Jack decided Dali needed them after he’d mentioned one night that he missed having a chair to sit in and read. Jack never said a word about it, and probably never will, yet the kindness of the gesture is certainly not lost on him.

On the corner of the old wooden desk is a stack of books of varying sizes, all of them regarding the care and species of house plants; it has taken him weeks to amass his collection, and he is very proud of them nonetheless, even if he is the only one who ever actually sees them. He brushes his hands over the tower of knowledge before striding to the bedroom. On top of the desk and chairs, he’s also managed to acquire a relatively new bed, complete with rails and a headboard. As a result, he finds himself sleeping less often in his feline form nowadays.

The Westons do not pay him in coin or cash for helping them out, though he is slowly learning to appreciate the value of their collective friendships. Since his original intention was only to lend a hand around the shop for a bit and then head out of Lambden, he sometimes lets thoughts of what being on the road at this time of year would be like swirl around him. That idea, now, seems weak in comparison with the genuine interest he has in the arcane healing arts. Not since he discovered his own innate powers has he been so taken with magic; once again it is the warm well of comfort in his chest like that of a happy memory once too often repressed and finally allowed to burst forth with a joy he’s only experienced once before instead of a burden forced upon him to make him stand out from the crowd.

***

Across town, Jack magically locks his bedroom door after Missy brings in the large metal tub they use for bathing and then efficiently conjures up some hot water. He is trying, and largely failing, to ignore a tugging of physical demand that has settled at the base of his spine. His thoughts seem to scatter every single time he tries to think about anything else, so he’s decided that if he can at least ease the situation, he’ll be able to move on to more important things, like sleeping. It’s been almost forty-eight hours since he slept properly, and he’s going to do it tonight even if he has to break down and beg his sister for a sleeping draught. For now, though, he can make the attempt to relax a little and maybe even nap before they get too busy.

Jack makes himself wait until he is able to hear Missy’s footsteps fade as she moves around the house in order to open the shop for the day. Foam begins to appear from the bottom of the tub, brought into existence as a result of contact with his skin and the temperature of the water, while at his back, the metal begins to warm up pleasantly, slightly warmer than his body but not hot enough to burn.

Jack rests his head against the edge of the tub and raises one wheaten-colored eyebrow at the absolutely ridiculous amount of bubbly foam Missy’s newest soap concoction has made. There’s so much of it that it is cascading in a thin, translucent rainbow stream to the floor. Not that he minds the soap or the bubbles, per se, but they are making it really difficult for him to do the one thing he needs to do—and has needed to do since after the last stranger left the kitchen in the dark hours of the morning. It has been an adjustment getting used to the idea of calling them ‘patients.’ In some ways, it’s like being back in the war with his team: always busy and able to be counted on. That type of responsibility never came easy to him, yet he never shirked what was handed to him and he’s not about to start that now.

When he simply cannot take the demand of his body anymore, he drops one hand beneath the surface of the water and gives himself one single stroke; which, of course, is no way, shape or form anything like _enough_. He closes his eyes and trusts his sister’s sense of privacy to leave him alone for the few minutes he needs to set his libido from maximum power to a dull roar.

Jack tightens his fingers around himself and it feels so wonderful that he stops worrying about being interrupted and bucks his hips upward, splashing bubbly water over the side. He pays it no mind, however, as he thinks about lovely amber eyes with their oddly-shaped pupils and long, slender hands; an inquisitive look on a soft face that shows only the faintest line of stubble even long after midnight. In this fantasy, he gives into the curiosity and tastes the skin with the tip of his tongue; surely it is as tantalizing to his mouth as it would be to his hands. Sometimes, in their day to day interactions, it takes everything Jack has to stop himself from reaching out and hauling the shapeshifter to him, holding him against his chest and finding out.

When Jack finally climaxes, he gives himself thirty seconds to relax before climbing out of the now tepid, cloudy and certainly no longer clean water. A wave of his hand cleans up the mess, then he very ungracefully collapses onto his bed in a damp, naked heap.

***

Outside, autumn slips almost silently into winter; a number of busy nights race by, bringing with them the injured and the sick as well as icy rain and frost. Jack heals the people efficiently and patches the ones who need more time. Occasionally, Missy assists him when a potion is called for, though it is usually the young wizard whose amber eyes Jack is so taken with that is by his side. He wonders idly if Dali is aware of how much his friendship means to Jack; once in a while he allows himself permission to consider if there could ever be anything more between them.

As the nights grow longer, Harry’s comings and goings have changed, as she seems content ignoring her siblings, they take that as a sign and leave her alone, too. At least there are no more shouting matches and everyone seems to be moving forward with their lives. Jack notes that she spends more time away from the house than in it, Missy remarks on it once in passing; by some unspoken agreement neither of them discuss it much after that.

Robert Greyson drops by the house a few times. Dali formally introduces the Peace Officer to Jack and they hit it off right from the start. Twice, Robert has accompanied a patient that he’d come across while out walking his beat. Both times, the people were assaulted and suffered contusions and, in one instance, broken bones symptomatic of being beaten by more than one offender.

To Jack and Missy, when they finally discuss it between them, there seems to be an undercurrent of unrest in their city that neither they, nor anyone else who will actually talk about it, have ever experienced before. Dali begins spending less time away from the Westons; when he does travel to wherever he goes, Jack notices that he usually shifts before leaving the house. Such a simple observation, really, but it reminds Jack strongly of the way the customers in the shop the day he returned home pulled their hoods up over their heads before they exited the building as if they had reason to hide—even in bright daylight.

***

On one of the rarer nights, the house is quiet. Twilight has just passed into true darkness and Jack is on the sofa in his newly cleaned out sitting room, reading a thick old tome that’s open over his thighs. Dali has not yet come in out of the night. Jack has grown accustomed to the other man’s wanderings, but he worries for him all the same. With all of the whispered rumors and eyewitness accounts of odd goings-on in the city reaching the Westons, Jack is caught between belief and a desperate need for more proof, even with what he’s seen with his own eyes.

More and more magickers are packing their things and moving away. The ones that are staying behind bring tales to Jack of a man, a leader, across the ocean who is vowing to ‘bring the Democratic Nations back to their former glory.’ Jack shakes his head, closing his book. Surely the mistakes of the past won’t be repeated? At least here in his corner of the world, people seem mostly content with one another. Or they did.

Jack gets off the couch, tossing the heavy book to the cushions where it lands with a thump. So far, it has been a quiet night. Not a single person has knocked on the back door and he finds himself without much to do now that his days and nights are virtually flipped. He wanders into the kitchen in order to rummage through the cupboards for a snack when a knock as loud as a crack of thunder sounds from behind him.

Jack freezes, one hand on the creaky cupboard door and the other inside it, fingers wrapped around the smooth skin of a ripe yellow apple. He could simply use magic to call his snack into the sitting room, but it’s best to keep his energy levels high, since every night is as unpredictable as the last. At first he doesn’t think he actually heard the noise; perhaps his mind conjured it up out of boredom. It sounds again, however, and this time there is no mistaking it or the thump of someone or something falling heavily against the old wood.

He lets go the apple, half-swipes at the cupboard door, not paying any attention as to whether it actually closes, then marches to the back exit. Every muscle in his body on high alert, Jack swings open the door and moves out of the way just as something substantial crashes to the threshold at his feet. Jack drops to his knees without thinking and instinctively turns the person over. It is a man, one side of his face bruised and bloody, the opposite side looking more like raw mincemeat than human flesh. Jack finds himself wishing that Dali were here.

“Missy!” he calls out as he places his arms under broad shoulders in an effort to move him. The man winces and groans pitifully. Before he can drag him much further, Missy is at his side asking what she can do to help.

“Put a clean cloth over the table and conjure up some towels. He will need something sturdy under his head.”

“I can do that,” Missy tells him as she turns away to follow his orders.

Five minutes feels more like five hours as the two of them manage to get the man on his back on the table so that Jack can take a closer look at his injuries. Missy gets enough candles going around them that the room is as bright as a summer afternoon; that’s when Jack recognizes his patient.

“Anthony?” he asks, leaning down over the man. There’s a sad clicking sound in the back of the man’s throat as he exhales and tries to speak. The eyelid over the eye on the better side of his face flutters in an effort to open.

“What happened to you?” Jack probes for any sign that his old army mate is conscious.

Another click and another broken exhale ends on a wretched groan.

“Shh,” Jack tells the man, “you’re safe now. Let me help you.”

A weak nod from the patient is permission enough for Jack. Missy begins cleaning Anthony’s face with a damp sponge as Jack attempts to ascertain the extent of the man’s injuries. His battered face is terrible, the left side mostly surface abrasions and bruises; the right side, however, may be beyond Jack’s expertise. Anthony’s right eye is swollen completely shut and Jack has an inkling that the eyeball itself may actually have sustained damage. Small pebbles and mud stick to clumps of drying blood that mat his lashes. In his expert opinion, the man was on his side on the ground and his attacker or attackers were above him—apparently they didn’t stop with their fists or feet once he was down.

“I’m going to raise your shirt, alright?” Jack informs the room at large, forcing down his anger at this brutality. He tugs gently at the man’s dirty, blood-encrusted tunic and drops it to the floor, kicking it beneath the table out of the way. Missy startles at his tense exhale, pausing in her movements and looking closer.

Anthony’s entire torso is streaked in scarlet as if he’s been in a fight with a huge, clawed animal. What skin isn’t torn is black and blue patched with the rusty color of dried blood. Missy chokes back a sympathetic sound as Anthony opens his mouth and lets out a terrible wail in the instant Jack holds his palm above his battered body, searching for whatever remains of Anthony’s life line before it’s too late. Jack jerks his hand away as fresh rivulets of blood spring from the wounds. The injured man is panting now, beads of sweat dotting his brow making furrows in the caked-on mess. With each pass of Missy’s sponge, Anthony cringes and his body tenses with pain; she turns to her brother with pleading eyes, empathetic and unsure how to stop hurting the man further. Jack, too, is torn between helping him and making matters even worse. It is a terrible choice for anyone to have to make, though it isn’t the first time in his life he’s ever been faced with this particular crossroads.

“Anthony, can you please tell me what happened to you?” Jack tries again.

Before an answer can be formed on the man’s trembling lips, however, the back door is thrust open and with a bang it smacks into the wall. Dali strides into the bright light, dragging someone with him. The young wizard’s face is ablaze with fury. Jack’s knowing eyes scan him over quickly for injury before turning to the figure whose tunic collar Dali is gripping tightly in one shaking hand.

It is another man; a boy, actually, Jack corrects himself. “Dali?” he asks but Dali shakes his head and shoves the boy between them with the flat of his palm.

“Talk,” he orders and tightens the fingers of his right hand around the boy’s wrists where he’s got them pulled behind his back.

“Do you know this man?” Jack queries gruffly, pointing at the man on the table. Missy has covered Anthony’s battered torso with clean towels in order to afford him some measure of privacy.

The boy laughs merrily as if everything that is happening is a big game to him. Dali jerks upward on his arms. Jack doesn’t question it, he can see the truth, but he’s not ready to face it until it spews from the youth’s mouth like venom.

“Yeah there, guv’nor. I see’d him. A magicker—a magic licker—jes like yerselves!” The boy laughs again, expression wide open and daring them all to take him on. Jack does not like the manic look in his eyes. He steps forward and grabs his chin, fighting the urge to slap the thug.

“Tell me what happened to him,” Jack snarls.

“That one, he ran afoul of me Pa,” the boy informs them.

“What does that mean?” Dali growls, jerking the boy hard enough that he hits the floor on his knees. “Who is your father?”

Jack steps away when Anthony groans again. He grabs two of the towels Missy has put on the table and squeezes them until they are wet with water he’s pulled from the atmosphere. As gently as he is able, he peels back the dry towels already there and stretches the damp ones out over Anthony’s torso, effectively tuning out the argument between the feral child and Dali. There’s no time for this now, because if he can’t use magic to help this man, nothing is going to save his life. He only stops once in his quest for Anthony’s lifeline when he recognizes Robert’s footsteps. The Peace Officer takes the boy away and Jack returns his full attention to his patient. He is aware of both Missy and Dali’s collective presence at his side, and is appreciative of them both, though he can feel the sands of time slipping past him quickly and so pours everything he is made of into his efforts. The three of them speak little, saving their energies in order to direct them to where they’re most needed.

As a result, half of the night is spent in a virtually silent attempt to break the unfamiliar spells that have brought Anthony Preston, once part of Jack’s combat team, to this state. Jack and Dali work side-by-side tirelessly, every effort a strain on both of them until Anthony’s chest rattles with his last breath. The almost fully-healed side of his face slackens as his pain finally ebbs.

Missy sobs quietly, mourning the passing of an unknown friend. The candles flicker around them, the colorful flames paling in quiet reverence of a life extinguished too soon. Jack turns away from them in order to wash the blood from his arms and hands at the sink. Respectfully, Dali closes the man’s eyes and steps away from the table. Missy snuffs three quarters of the candles out with a pinching motion of her fingers and offers her brother an embrace. Jack shakes his head, holds up his hands and walks out of the kitchen. The front door to the shop slams behind him. Dali begins cleaning up while Missy conjures up a shroud for the body.

An hour later, Missy’s part of the task complete, she bids Dali good night, giving him a quick hug and thanking him for his help. The next day will be a long one for her as she will be responsible for getting Anthony’s body into the hands of the proper authorities.

He begins pulling his robes back on over his clothes in the kitchen when he notices a faint dance of light from the sitting room. He’d been sitting in the shop while Missy worked, waiting on Jack to return and apparently been so caught up in his own thoughts that he missed him coming in the back door. Dali is torn between checking on his friend and going home to spend the rest of the night alone.

It is not a difficult choice to make.

Jack’s face is half hidden in the candlelight of the sitting room, even as its glow is cast no more than a few feet, shrouding the rest of the area in darkness. Exhaustion is painted clearly on all his features nonetheless, and the resulting flames are feeble.

Dali watches his mentor closely for a few moments, leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed over his chest. Nervously, he again considers going on back to his flat, but then Jack turns towards him. A single tear escapes the other man’s eye and becomes an invisible chain that pulls Dali in his direction the way opposite magnets pull towards one another. He is mesmerized by the tiny liquid bead as it bends the weak yellow light and releases it back into the air as a starburst; perhaps he is more fatigued than he thought himself to be.

“Dali, I know you’re there,” Jack states into the heavy darkness that seems to be a vast gulf between them, voice rough and overwrought.

Caught, Dali drops his arms to his sides, making his robes whisper subtly as he waits to be what his friend needs.

“I don’t mind,” Jack states quietly, his voice hitching almost imperceptibly.

Dali moves into the feeble light then drops down in the floor next to Jack’s chair, his back against the smooth leather. He pulls his legs up and rests his chin on his knees.

“What can I do?” he asks, detesting how unsure he sounds in the still air.

“There’s nothing, Dali. Only time can make it hurt less. He was my friend, we had a few laughs together. His death, and the reasons for it…that’s all wrong and you and I both know it. He wasn’t an old man, he had so much life left to experience…” Jack slams his clenched fingers against the arm of the chair.

Dali notes the anger now written plainly on Jack’s face. Normally, he would just change into his feline alter, but he makes a snap decision that Jack needs him to be completely human right now. The cat is a comfort for Dali; perhaps Dali can be that comforting presence for Jack.

After a few quiet minutes pass unremarked upon, Dali stands and checks the fire. There seems to be nothing else to say. The flames have died out, leaving a few vermillion coals glowing in the ashes. He stacks up a few fresh logs and twigs, then snaps his fingers and counts to ten while he waits for the new wood to catch.

Nothing happens.

Irritated, the young wizard huffs and snaps his fingers again. Granted, it has been since before he discovered his shape-shifting abilities that he was able to do this; but it hasn’t been that long, not really. After all, he lights his own candles all the time—this should be easy. He lowers himself to a crouch before the fireplace and glares at the kindling that stubbornly refuses to ignite.

A gentle but firm pressure on his shoulder makes him turn. Jack is offering him a small grin, his golden hair backlit from the candlelight that has grown proportionately stronger. Dali so wants to touch those wheaten strands, and for an instant, he almost does. Jack moves in order to reach into the grate and the moment is broken.

Jack grabs a thick twig and holds it up so that Dali can see it clearly. He gestures towards the candle now bobbing at eye level with the other hand. It has followed Jack’s movements across the room.

“Like this,” he says calmly. The candle floats closer to them and stops above Jack’s shoulder. “Remember, you can’t create anything from _nothing_ , right?”

Dali nods, internally chastising himself for not thinking that sooner. “Correct.”

“Okay, then, watch.” Jack says patiently. He casually waves his empty hand over the top of the candle, making the flame there flicker and dance. Tiny balls of light form in between his palm and the top of the wick then hang in that space as if awaiting further orders.

“Is it not hot?” Dali asks, awed.

“Not really, not enough energy. At this point, I believe it is almost in stasis.” Jack doesn’t take his eyes off the sparking light spheres, even as they grow brighter.

Dali doesn’t answer but watches closely. Jack shuts his eyes, humming a little under his breath. The tiny spheres wink out and almost simultaneously, the end of the stick in his other hand flares red hot.

Jack laughs lightly, a brittle sound to Dali’s ears after so much silence. “It is a strange sensation to have that much power move through my body,” he explains, “since I am more accustomed to pushing it away from me.”

Dali understands. Healing borrows from the healer’s body and gives to the injured or sick. Creating fire builds on the power already inherent in the magicker, so for a few seconds there is a type of binding occurring.

Jack drops the stick back into its former place and grabs another one before it catches. “Here, you try,” he says as he holds it out towards the younger man.

Dali copies Jack’s movements from before, concentrating with every fiber in his being. Still nothing happens. He frowns at the stick.

“Don’t give up, Dali.” Jack skims his hand over Dali’s outstretched arm, pulling back the sleeve of his robe to keep it from accidentally becoming tinder.

“Relax into it. I can’t tell you what to think about, but I always picture the vibrating molecules as standing in one place, eager to move. My hand becomes the conductor for all of that energy,” he opens his hand and presses their palms together, then spreads Dali’s longer fingers apart with his own.

Dali desperately wants to ignore the frisson of sensory overload from the instructive touch. It does not escape him that this is why he prefers to be touched as the cat; fur seems to have a muting effect on the excess of sensation. On the tail end of that sizzling little jolt of _something_ , however, is a new feeling, almost as if he is standing too close to a boiling pot. All the hairs on his arm stand on end and the fingers still gripping the stick involuntarily tighten around it.

In the space of one exhale, before the end of the kindling ignites so fast and with so much force that Dali drops it, there is an odd, hot tingle in his hand. He gasps at the new sensation as the stick clatters against the floor. He can suddenly feel the heat of the fire at his back, the weight of the night outside and some new kind of warmth emanating from the man at his side.

Jack bends to get the stick and tosses it into the now roaring fire.

“That was excellent. Next time don’t drop it,” he squeezes Dali’s upper arm. He holds it for a few seconds more, and when it lets go, the familiar blue spark of energy flares between them.

Now a new rush of heat spreads from that point. Instead of commenting on the phenomenon, Dali clears his throat and says, “thank you.”

 


	6. P.1: Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revised 30 March 2015

**-Chapter Six-**

In his deepest periods of sleep, when he is too far gone to fight them, Dali’s dreams have begun dredging up his past. Each old memory is brought to light and flipped over like a rock on the riverbank: sometimes there is nothing beneath, other times there are worms and every so often, much, much darker things. In his conscious mind, he accepts that his story isn’t as painful as others’; in his heart, however, watching those scenes play out over and over hurts as badly now as they did eleven years ago. Curled up under a warm duvet Missy gave him when a customer used it as a trade for some potions, Dali struggles against the vivid onslaught of memories he believed buried far enough below the surface of his consciousness to never have to face again.

In the nocturnal wanderings of his psyche, the sun is a bright swatch of gold that enhances every dark shadow it touches, carving out small niches of warmth in a less than emotionless landscape. Hues of saffron and buttery cream make even the shadows brighter, chasing away the dark. In some far off distance, he is aware that his dreams are much more colorful, and certainly lack the original sting of pain than the reality of the memories themselves.

Dali’s mother, Ines, and his father’s first wife, Sankari, are in the front garden with a large, colorful quilt stretched out between them. The two women sit cross-legged on the neatly trimmed lawn. Ines is laughing at something Sankari has said to her, her expression relaxed and joyful. Her blue eyes sparkle and when she turns to regard her son, her fair cheeks are flushed. She is beautiful. In his dreams, Dali always hears her call to him, but the words are long forgotten. What he remembers most is the way Sankari reaches out and cups his mother’s cheek with one hand and the way his mother smiles back at her. In that moment, he is simply as speck of dirt, a shade in the corner of someone’s eye...moving through air gone stiff as frozen water, Dali feels as if he is unseen.

Spring wraps them all in variegated shades of green. Both Ines and Sankari greet him affectionately as he’s finally able to break free from his transparent prison and join them. Sitting beside them, he pulls off his boots and long blue woolen socks, then stretches his toes out in the grass and admires the tender new shoots. The ground beneath his feet is warm, as welcoming as the women who regard him with matching expressions of fondness, silver needles flashing in the sunlight as they continue to work on their project. Ines works a second or so slower than Sankari, so the result is almost a harmonious melody of stitching and knotting.

Taking in the tune without music being woven around him, Dali’s ten-year-old heart swells and he thinks that in his lifetime he will never know this feeling again.

“You are well, my son?” Ines asks him as she uses her fingers to smooth out a wrinkle in the quilt. She is currently working on a patchwork bluebird, its body made up of several shades and patterns of blue, from azure to turquoise, solid and print.

“Yes, mamma, I am. Peter let me ride Admiral this morning,” Dali informs his mother. Peter is their neighbor’s son, older than Dali by five years. Admiral is his big bay warmblood stallion, a prize-winning specimen and a lot for a ten year-old to handle. Dali is understandably proud of himself.

Sankari nods, her almond-shaped chocolate brown eyes assessing him quietly, efficiently. Without a doubt, Dali loves his mother, but he loves Sankari, too. She is a mentor and tutor and has taught him everything he knows about magic. She was the first to tell him the story of the day of his birth, she was there beside his mother, coaching her and helping usher the new life into the world.

“Rich…” Ines starts to say.

Dali shakes his head, “Mamma, please don’t call me by that name.”

Ines frowns, perfectly shaped eyebrows almost meeting in her displeasure. “It is your name, my son.”

“I know, Mamma, I’m sorry. I just…you know,” he stares down at his toes, unable to meet her eyes. A tiny red beetle crawls over them, so light he can barely feel it. For a moment, he wonders what it would be like to be so small that you wouldn’t leave a trace of your passing behind.

“Ah, Ines, your son, his spirit is free of the bonds of his father,” Sankari says as she rolls her part of the quilt towards Ines, pulling his attention away from the bug. “Come here, boy.” She holds her arms open and he shimmies around to sit in her lap.

“You spoil him so, Sanki,” Ines tries to sound stern, but the scolding turns into laughter.

“What do you prefer to be called, then, my free spirit?” Sankari asks, resting her chin on the top of his head. He loves the way her glossy black hair spills over her shoulders and brushes the tops of his arms. Somewhat absent-mindedly, he twines his fingers into a long, smooth lock, unconsciously comparing the color of it to the sun-kissed shade of his own skin and the crimson silk of her tunic.

“I…” he tries, fully aware of how red his face grows under his mother’s scrutiny. He clears his throat, lets his eyes drift towards a vermillion butterfly that has landed on a tiny white flower near his toes and tries again. After all, surely ten years is old enough to choose a name for oneself, right? Sankari told him that many wizards choose their own names, and even if he only knows a handful of basic spells right now, why should that stop him?

“Dali,” he whispers, suddenly brave. Ines leans forward, takes his hand, the one not wrapped in Sankari’s hair, into her own.

“That is beautiful,” she says, her eyes locked onto his.

“Thank you,” he mutters, embarrassed.

Behind him, Sankari begins to chuckle. Ines tilts her head slightly, still looking at her son. A faint breeze causes the ruffled sleeves of her pink tunic to flutter. Her smile outshines the sun.

“I am not laughing at him, _Mi corazón y alma_ ,” Sankari says softly in his mother’s native tongue. “Quite the opposite, _¿Entiendes?_ ” She hugs him close to her. “It is a fitting name, I believe. _Dal_ is ancient Sanskrit, a word that means ‘to split.’ And he does, does he not? Splits his love for you in two and shares it with me?”

Ines laughs now, seeing the beauty of Sankari’s statement and scoots over beside her son. She hugs him, too, so that any passer-by would see the three of them are happy to simply exist in one another’s company. Dali wants to tell them that his adoration is not split, never broken, always whole, and that he loves them equally. He cannot say the words, though, because his young mind has yet to understand the vastness of what he feels, let alone be able to _name_ it. He laughs, too, because it seems like the right thing to do; his young self deeply hoping that it is enough of an answer.

Dali remembers every detail about that sweet slice of his past: down to every emerald blade of grass and ruby bud on the branches of the trees over their heads. He can recall perfectly the size, shape and color of the rose bushes planted in neat rows not ten feet from where they sit. He will never forget the rainbow quilt as it is lit by the sun or his mother’s and Sankari’s white golden and diamond rings that sparkle in the afternoon light as their hands move with the rhythm of their stitching.

Eventually, as all young boys do, he grows bored with watching the ladies sew and he stops listening as their conversation pulls away from him onto more mundane, less exciting things than horses and boys’ adventures. He excuses himself, grabs his boots and trots towards the cottage barefoot. In the doorway, he turns back towards his mother and Sankari, only to realize that he cannot see them over the hedgerow growing between the house and the garden. He can hear them, though, both of them laughing, the sound weaving a harmony through the still spring air as joyous as anything he’s ever known.

***

Missy balances the brown wicker basket in her hands on one knee. The herbs inside it are wrapped carefully in plain brown paper; even so, she can still smell them over the scents of lager and honey ale. She is taking a short break on a tall stool in one of Lamden’s small, homey pubs. It is one of the few places in town that has electricity, and that due to the trio of generators the owner has set up out back. Business is good, considering it is midafternoon on a workday. Justin, the bartender, meanders closer to her, wiping his hands on his tan apron.

“Miss Weston,” he grins boyishly, the blond curls over his eyes drawing attention to the green color of them. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Hey, Justin, since when are you so formal?” Missy asks her friend, shifting the basket to the floor in front of the stool.

Justin scrunches up his eyes and scratches at his chin, a perfect imitation of his father, Daniel, who is down the opposite end of the bar conversing with one of the regulars. Missy stifles a giggle.

“I’m not, just trying to be funny, that’s all. Seems like everyone’s got a stick up their arse ‘bout something or other lately.” Justin reaches beneath the bar for a clean glass and sets it in front of her, his eyes flicking towards his father as he mostly whispers, “Glad you made it.”

Satisfied that Daniel didn’t hear him, he asks: “What would the lady enjoy today?”

Missy is about to decline the offer, but the half-wary expression on his face stops her.

“Actually, you know, how about one of those virgin lemon-lime things you make?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Justin winks and mixes her drink. Lowly, he says, “I need to talk to you later, your brother, too. Can I come ‘round? ”

Missy nods, takes a sip of her drink, and winces. He forgot the sugar, again. “Anytime,” she tells him, reaching into the pocket of her breeches and retrieving a couple of coins. She drops them on the bar and retrieves her basket.

“Herbs?” Justin asks, blatantly ignoring her wince at the overly sour taste of the concoction he just made up in her glass; paying so little attention to it, he’ll be lucky if there is anything even remotely resembling lemon or lime in it. He’s not really going to tell her that, though.

“Yes, I’m working on some poultices.” Missy informs him.

“Interesting. See you tonight.” Justin wipes at the bar idly. Missy gives him a short wave.

She leaves the pub, but her mind refuses to fully return to her shopping list. Instead, she thinks about the note Justin had posted to her earlier this week that reminded her to stop at the pup, and then his comment about people seeming to be on edge. She notices it, too, especially around the market stall where she purchases the special herb and oil bases for some of the potions she makes. Missy has to admit that she certainly doesn’t feel as welcome at the market as before, then decides that perhaps it is just her imagination and she needs to get out of the shop more. She is becoming quite the hermit. Since Harry seems completely uninterested in helping out, maybe she should close one or two days a week?

Missy nods to herself as she picks through a pile of fresh apples. She moves to a basket of green beans, wondering what Justin might be up to later. It is obvious to her that he needs to discuss something important, though she has no idea what it could possibly be. She tries to remember if Justin has been ‘round their place since Jack got home, but fails to come up with a positive answer.

Missy pays for the fruit and veg, the old man running the stall giving her the once over, dark eyes sparkling until he notices the basket on her arm. He frowns at her, mutters something under his breath, and then thrusts her change out so roughly that she almost drops it to the ground. Missy frowns right back, collects her purchases and decides to chalk the whole incident up to the weather growing colder.

Out past the market a little ways, she passes by a group of people gathered on the corner. They are all dressed in long brown coats, which by itself is not remarkable. What stands out, however, are the swords strapped to their backs in clear view of everyone. They do not seem to be military in any way other than their very short haircuts; the group is made up of both men and women, she takes care to note. She waves to Officer Greyson across the way and adjusts her robes tighter around herself with one hand then turns away from the market place and the docks to head home.

A few yards off the trail, hidden in the brush, Dali the cat blinks his eyes as she passes him, then goes back to his own quiet contemplation of the strange, armed group of people.

***

“Jack? Jack, are you home?” Missy calls, stepping through the door. She sets the shopping down on the kitchen table and raises both hands, effectively setting the tea kettle on the counter to boil as well as sending the basket into the shop and the produce into their proper bins in the cupboard simultaneously. For a few seconds, the kitchen is a whirlwind of flying apples, beans, and tea fixings. She’s a bit irritated at herself for taking over two hours to get home. Instead of going her normal straight forward route, she meandered quite a bit, still a more than a little distracted by the group of people outside the market.

Beyond the noises she’s making in the kitchen, there’s the groan of an old mattress creaking, heavy footsteps across the floor and the squeak of Jack’s bedroom door.

“Yeah, ‘m up!” he shouts. She can clearly make out the sounds of him going about his usual routine.

“Tea?” she asks.

“Please!” he answers, then there’s a loud bang against the wall from the bedroom next to Jack’s. Apparently Harry is home at the moment and disinclined to get out of bed.

Ignoring her sister, Missy snaps her fingers and two mugs glide out of the cupboard. She thinks about it for a moment, considers the time of day and then adds two more. She’s uncertain as to who will show up first tonight, either Justin or Dali, but she is a bit excited for the two of them to meet each other. That stray thought is a bit odd. Since when did she worry about what Dali thinks about anything? Missy shakes her head to see her sleep-rumpled brother watching her closely, still relatively short hair sticking out, feet bare standing in the doorway stretching his arms over his head.

Jack enters the kitchen rolling his shoulders and tugging on his new short-sleeved tunic to straighten it up. Missy likes the maroon color of the thicker garment.

“Is it warm enough like that?” she queries, pulling one of the chairs out from the table. Outside the sun is starting to set.

“I think so. I love my robes, you know that, but it just gets to be a bother trying to keep the sleeves up off my hands. Besides, since you added these pockets, I can keep bandages and little things like that handier.”

“Thank you, I just wanted to help.” Missy twirls her index finger and the kettle pours tea into two of the mugs. Jack retrieves his from mid-air and the other gently lands on the table in front of her.

Jack laughs. “Yeah, well, I think you really just wanted me to stop waking you up to fetch stuff for me.”

Missy agrees. “Some of us still believe in being awake during the day and working then in order to sleep at night. Not all of us have our days all flipped over.”

“I know, I know. But it sort of chose me, didn’t it?” Jack blows lightly across the top of his mug.

“Yes, whatever ‘it’ is, it certainly has chosen you. But, Jack, you do so well and the people appreciate your efforts. I just wish I could get the same sense of appreciation from some of our other neighbors in the daylight hours.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asks, suddenly alert. All the heaviness of sleep leaves him in seconds. “Are you okay?”

Missy sets her cup down and holds her hands up, “No, nothing like that. It’s like this, just odd things, really. When I was in Ferguson’s stall, you know, the man with the produce?” She describes a circular pattern in the air with her index finger.

“Yes, I remember mister Ferguson,” Jack agrees, deciding tea isn’t enough right now. “Is there any of those brownies from yesterday left?”

“Okay and yes, gimme a minute.” Missy closes her eyes, remembers where she left the plate of brownies she made at lunchtime yesterday and in seconds has it zooming into the kitchen from the shop. She’s been trading recipes with some of her customers and her brother is seriously enjoying her attempts.

Jack snatches one of the sweets from the plate as it makes its way past him to land on the counter next to the sink, where it wobbles on the edge precariously for a second before righting itself.

Missy ignores it. “I was picking through the apples, mainly because I know how picky you are about them…”

“I am not,” Jack disagrees, biting off a large piece of brownie and sounding every bit like the sassy younger brother instead of an older one.

Missy cocks an eyebrow at him. “Anyway, I was going through the apples. I took the ones I wanted over to the counter and Ferguson was fine with that. I gave him the money and when he noticed my herb basket he sort of gave me this odd look. I swear the man looked disgusted.”

“Couldn’t have done, Missy. He’s known you since you were tiny,” Jack says around another mouthful of brownie.

“Whatever, I swear he just threw my change at me.” Missy informs him.

“I don’t know, Missy, you know I haven’t been out much. Ask Dali, maybe he’s heard something.”

“I’m sure he has. Cats don’t talk much, but they do watch and listen,” she grins at her brother.

“What’s that mean?” Jack frowns as he finishes off his tea.

“Nothing,” Missy states, busying herself with what little clean up there is. Jack studies her carefully but they are interrupted by the tinny chime of the bell over the shop door. Missy goes on through without saying anything else.

Jack walks into the sitting room and is messing around with the fire when Missy returns. He’s already lit a dozen candles and they are lazily bobbing about the low ceiling. Beside her trots a small yellow dog. It is a medium-sized terrier, has what appears to be curly fur and its eyes are green. Jack recognizes all the hallmarks of a shapeshifter now.

Surprised to see another one after all this time, he greets the newcomer. “Who would this be, then?”

Missy gestures towards the dog who sits down at her feet and offers Jack a paw. “Jack, this is Justin Sipple. Justin, this is my big brother, Doctor Jack Weston.”

“Nice to meet you, Justin. Mind you don’t shed on the furniture,” he smiles, “Missy, enough with the pets, alright?”

“As if the last one turned out so bad for you!” she laughs then turns around so that Justin can change.

Jack frowns at his sister then watches the shape-shifter with interest, unable _not_ to. He’s still fascinated by the degree of arcane skill exhibited by them. “How do keep your robes?” he asks, forgetting manners for a moment.

The tall young man now standing in the center of the sitting room grins cockily back. “Practice,” he says and takes a seat on the sofa, adjusting his fine blue robes as he does so.

Chuckling, Jack turns back to the fire to make sure it is lit. Once it is crackling to his satisfaction, he regards his sister and her proximity to Justin. Close on the couch, not touching, yet they seem comfortable in each other’s company.

“Would you two like to be alone?” Jack wonders aloud.

Missy blushes and shakes her head.

“Actually, Doctor Weston, I wanted to talk to both of you for a few minutes, if I may.”

Missy regards her brother with hopeful eyes. He shrugs. “Go on, but please, call me Jack.”

“Sure, Jack, thanks. We’ve never met, but you might know my dad, Daniel? We own The Beanstalk down by the market.”

“Sure, don’t think I’ve ever met him, either, but I do know the pub.” Jack takes one of the chairs and pulls it around so that the three of them can talk face-to-face. “Though, before I joined up, I believe it was called something else.” He doesn’t mention how many times he’d been sent to retrieve Harry from that very place.

“Yeah, oh wow, that’s right! You were in the army.” Justin’s eyes are wide with curiosity and something else Jack doesn’t particularly like seeing there.

“Yes, I was. If you want to talk about that, ask me again later.” Jack knows his attempt to keep the edge from his voice largely fails, though he wants to get the message across that there are times he simply doesn’t want to discuss it. Just the thought makes his shoulder ache.

“Oh, I apologize then, sir,” Justin says with respect, not taking offense to John’s tone.

“It’s fine, and you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ Jack will do. What was it you wanted to ask me?” Jack folds his hands in his lap.

“There’s some rumors about town that people who are hurt or sick can come to you and you’re healing them,” Justin states.

“Well, yes, you must think it’s true if you called me ‘doctor.’”

“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Justin nods to himself. “I did. I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll be blunt, okay?”

Jack doesn’t say anything, only watches the young man patiently.

“Right. Anyway, I have some friends over in Reston and they heard about you, and they were wondering if you are just offering your services to people who live in Lamden or if you’d be willing to see them if they came here? They said they would pay whatever you asked.”

Jack contemplates that. Perplexed, he asks: “Are there no longer any physicians in Reston?”

Justin scratches at the back of his neck. His eyes travel about the room, taking in the polished mantle over the fireplace and bunches of colorful dried flowers Missy decorates the place with.

“Can I be frank with you, Jack?”

“Absolutely,” Jack says, thinking _get on with it_.

“Do you not realize that some doctors and others have banned magickers from their clinics?”

“What?” Jack really is surprised. How has he missed this? He thinks about his former army mate, then remembers other patients he’s seen, including the boy, Bradley. All of them had a touch of magic about them, actually, now that he’s thinking about it, some more than others. He chews on his fingernail.

“I’m sorry, Jack, I thought you understood,” Dali says from behind him, his deep voice serious.

Jack half turns about in his chair to look at the wizard. Dali’s amber eyes flash in welcome; instantly he is regarding the newcomer.

“I guess I should have.”

Across from him, Missy nods at Jack’s words, her gaze shifting from Justin to Dali and back again. The air in the room has charged slightly, though both magickers seem to be radiating curiosity rather than hostility.

“You’re the ferret.” Dali states abruptly, coming around the side of Jack’s chair to plant himself in the floor at the older man’s feet, though he never drops his gaze from Justin’s face.

“No he isn’t,” Missy informs him.

“Yes, I am,” Justin says at the same time.

Missy stares at him. “No you’re not, you’re the dog.”

“Yes, I am. I’m a ferret, too,” Justin tells them earnestly.

“How?” Dali asks, his attention fully focused on Justin.

Justin shrugs and grins. “I don’t know, I was born this way.”

“Fascinating,” Dali breathes. Jack rests his hands on Dali’s shoulders so he can lean forward. None of the men pay any attention to the possessive gesture, though Missy catches it and smiles at Jack, who misses it because he’s watching Dali staring down the older boy.

“Why show yourself, now?” Dali narrows his eyes at the other shape shifter.

Justin’s gaze falls on Jack’s face. Something in his expression must reassure him. “I came to ask if Jack would see patients from Reston.”

“Reston?” Dali rolls the name of the town around on his tongue. “Is it the same as here, now?”

Neither Jack nor Missy really understand that question, but Justin gets it. “Yes.”

Dali sighs and leans heavily against Jack’s chair.

“Dali, what’s happening?” Missy inquires.

“Wait a minute,” Jack says, tapping Dali on the shoulder. “Before we settle in for a long conversation, let me hang the sign on the door.” He rises and goes into the kitchen, returning in several minutes with a heavily-laden tea tray and the plate of brownies. Dali’s eyes light up and he takes one when Jack sets the tray down on the coffee table.

Missy settles back against the cushions of the sofa, drawing her legs up underneath herself. She snaps her fingers and her notebook along with a pencil appear out of thin air, dropping onto her lap.

Once everyone settles, Dali begins. “You’ve all noticed at least some of it before this, I think. Missy, remember the customers covering their heads?”

“Yes,” Missy agrees.

“Then, later, no one coming to the shop for days and then the customers who did arrive seemed ashamed or in a hurry?”

“Yes, I did,” she nods while Jack and Justin listen carefully to the wizard. “What is happening?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think it has to do with the ‘getting back to normal’ movement overseas. It seems to be taking hold here, too.”

“I don’t understand.” This from Jack.

“No one does, really,” Justin informs him, gesturing around the room with his mug. “Dad is ignoring it, but he says he’s getting pressure from the other merchants to not do business with magickers.”

“That would be hypocritical of him, especially since…” Missy waves her hand at Justin, not really indicating one particular feature, but all of him.

“I know, that’s what I told him.”

“We have to be careful, keep our eyes and ears open. I can’t say how far this movement is going to go, but we certainly have already seen the aftermath of the feeling that underlies and seems to be driving it,” Dali announces gravely.

“You mean the people who have been beaten?” Jack asks.

Dali turns and looks up at him, resting his hand on Jack’s knee. Neither of them consider the implications of just how much personal-bubble breaking they’ve been doing lately, especially in the past half hour. Of course, Dali thinks the crackling power of Jack’s aura is one of the most astounding things he’s ever felt in his life, but manages to push it to the perimeter of his mind in order to make the older man understand what he’s trying to explain.

“Are we in danger?” Missy wonders aloud before Dali can say anything else.

“I don’t know,” Dali answers honestly. “I do think we should be vigilant.”

A hard knock on the back door interrupts them. Jack goes to answer it, squeezing Dali’s shoulder as he does so. His voice filters into the sitting room, obviously talking to a woman about her pending labor. Dali decides that his help is unnecessary and turns his attention back to Justin.

“How much free time do you have?”

“Tonight?” Just sounds unsure.

“No, in general. You work for your father, are you capable of collecting information?” Dali pins the younger man to the sofa with his eyes.

Justin leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees, mutely acknowledging his comprehension of the real meaning of Dali’s question: _which side do you choose?_ “I can do that. Promise me that if we are in danger, you’ll tell me so I can get Dad out of there?”

Knowing full well that they understand each other, Dali regards him shrewdly, not wanting to lie. “I can’t promise you that I will know everything before it happens, but I will promise to do my best.” _Remain loyal and I will, too._

Justin considers Dali’s answer for a few moments. Seeming to miss the underlying tension that has appeared in the room, Missy quietly readjusts herself, unfolding her legs and snapping her fingers to get rid of her notebook. Jack returns a few minutes later and the four of them spend the remainder of the evening taking care of patients and getting to know each other. Jack does most of the work, Dali bandages and takes mental notes on Jack’s technique while both of them make use of Justin’s presence by drafting him into the position of ‘gopher.’

Sometime after midnight, Missy excuses herself to bed. Justin stays a little longer, then does the same. At Dali’s curious look, the young man shifts into the ferret and then into the dog. Jack shakes his head in wonder as Dali opens the door for Justin. They stand close, arms brushing, watching the yellow dog trot down the front steps. Jack closes the door, effectively blocking out the rest of the world.

“It is really sad that he can only go about by night,” Jack breaks the silence of the cold night, his breath making puffs in the dim candlelight that trickles in through the shop from the kitchen.

“I don’t know,” Dali says, stepping by Jack, “he could go about by day, as well. No more people know of him in this town than they do me.”

“Really?” Jack asks, moving so that they are facing each other. “How is that possible?”

In that second, Dali forgets that his lungs need to expand in order to take in oxygen. Jack’s question completely slips his mind, it’s hopeless to even try. There is nothing in his line of sight now except for Jack’s face, Jack’s lips with their self-assured half-smile and Jack’s cobalt irises. Without thinking, Dali leans down the four inches that separate their height to find Jack already meeting him halfway.

By the time their lips touch, Jack’s right hand is curled around the nape of Dali’s neck and the left one is clutching at his hip. Dali is balanced on the palms of his hands, one on either side of Jack’s head against the wall. A jolt of electricity sizzles down his spine when Jack nips at his bottom lip before pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispers, letting go.

Dali shakes his head and doesn’t move his hands. “What for? I am not a child, Jack.”

“Oh, of that I am fully aware.” Jack is keenly aware of so much more than that; he’s especially cognizant that apparently Dali saw fit to wear nothing beneath his robes tonight. A picture of smooth skin rubbing against the soft velvet-like material of them jumps to the forefront of Jack’s mind. Involuntarily, he licks his lips.

Dali takes that as an invitation and leans down again. This time Jack stops him with a hand to his chest.

“Are you sure about this?” Jack’s tone is deeper than his usual speaking voice.

Dali wants to growl. “I’ve never gone farther than this, but I would if you’re interested.”

“That sounds like it means ‘yes,’” Jack says before bringing his mouth back to Dali’s. When no other words are spoken, he pulls Dali closer by his hips and thrills at the feeling of the other man’s obvious interest. Before he can say anything else, however, they are disturbed by yet another knock on the kitchen door and the powerful moment shatters.

Reluctantly pulling away, Jack allows Dali to crowd him a few seconds longer. The intense _want_ in the wizard’s eyes is almost enough to make Jack shirk his self-made responsibilities. After the space of several heartbeats, Dali nods and steps back. An unspoken agreement to take things slowly unfolds between them and they move together to the next person who needs them more than they need each other right now.

 


	7. P.1: Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 19 April 2015

**-Chapter Seven-**

Betwixt the potted plants he’s encourage to grow Dali sits alone in his flat, cross-legged on the floor, staring out at the heavy rain coating the glass of the big window. He finds comfort in the now-lively green leaves and multi-hued flowers that have grown out of nothing but a handful of twisty grey stumps. The past hour or so he’s been practicing shifting from his cat form into his human one without losing his robes in the process and his experiments have thus far been successful, though he is a bit worn out from his efforts on top of no sleep save for a few hours yesterday morning.

Rain pats its own staccato rhythm against the panes, washing out any color left behind of sunrise. The morning light around him is all pale now; the shadows of ash, ebony and charcoal, diluted versions of the depths of their former selves.

Dali closes his eyes, allowing himself to relax, and recalls the cat’s sensory impressions of both the fragrances of the plants and the falling rain; to his human senses, it is an almost overwhelming, unusual mix of tangy flavors, intense scents and flashes of too-bright color combined with the feeblest reverberations only a top predator could ever suss out from the constantly whirling blur of chaos that is the buzz of life all around him.

Mulling over those noises that are almost subsonic, Dali leans to the left and gently brushes back the leaves of a young fern. He thrusts his hand down into the crock and draws out a wiggling insect larvae of some sort. In order to study the fat, white grub, he holds it up to the damp grey light of midmorning. It wriggles against his fingers but seems harmless so he puts it back, thinking that it may prove beneficial to the plant in some way and if it doesn’t, he can always stick it outside. There’s no good reason to kill something unless it poses a threat, anyway.

Outside, the tempo of the rain builds until it is lashing against the window frame. Dali finds himself restless and wonders how a surprise visit to Jack after only a few hours of rest would be taken; he’s certainly too wound up now to be able to sleep. He changes his mind twice, tries to talk himself out of it, then takes a sweeping look around the sitting room and melds into his alternative form, deciding he would prefer to find out first-hand than dwell on it any longer. After that moment last night, the moment that sparked something new and hopeful in the air between them; after that, he can openly admit that he’d rather be around Jack than here alone.

The wavy-coated feline pushes open the door with his nose and trots down the staircase, tail in the air, eyes bright and steps energetic despite the lethargic atmosphere of his immediate environment.

***

Jack sluggishly begins shake off the heaviness of sleep to the raspy burr of a vaguely familiar sound. Blinking against the bright slash of sunlight peeking through the half-closed drapes over his window, he stretches his hands above his head, groaning when his back gives a satisfying pop. His legs follow suit until he is stopped by his toes brushing against something bulky. And warm. And also vibrating slightly.

Jack opens his eyes and peers down at the big black housecat stretched out fully on its side at the foot of his bed, tail touching one side of the mattress, head at the other. Until this moment, it has never dawned on him how big Dali’s alternate form really is. All of the lassitude of sleep switches to complete awareness in the space of two heartbeats.

“Dali?” he asks, clearing his throat. He is more than a bit self-conscious, considering the kiss they shared last night; he tells himself that he didn’t kiss _the cat_ so much as the _wizard,_ as much as they are one in the same—anyway, he really shouldn’t be so concerned about them being in the same bed. They are both adults, after all, regardless of how _human_ either one of them may be at the moment.

Dali raises his head up a little, amber eyes hooded, and languidly stretches his legs out in order to knead at the duvet with his six-toed paws, smooth purring echoing loudly in the midday quiet of Jack’s bedroom. Long, sharp claws snag briefly at the material then slide back out of it again effortlessly.

Ah, that was the sound. “So that’s what woke me up,” Jack says mildly as he scratches between Dali’s ears. The cat closes his eyes fully and rubs the side of his face against the bedclothes. His fur is slightly flattened on one side, evidence of having dried that way after being soaked at some point. Jack wonders just how long Dali has been in his room.

“Well, if you’re comfortable, then I guess you’re welcome to stay.”

Jack regards his new bedfellow closely, wondering if perhaps they should _Talk About It_. Dali seems unconcerned, however, chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm, even while still purring. He can’t say he wants the cat to go away, not really; the animal has the same calming influence on Jack as Dali himself. Jack contemplates the memory of his first day home for a moment, the way he felt fresh after getting off the ship and wandering about lost in once-familiar territory, the brush of lean muscle and fur against his boot. He smiles a bit, too, thinking that maybe some things really do happen for a reason.

Idly he rubs at the phantom ache in his arm then reaches out to stroke the cat. Dali’s eyes open half way and he regards Jack with such a human expression of wonder and sincerity that Jack almost chokes exhaling so quickly. He tugs a little knot out of a tight knot of wavy fur on the back of the feline’s neck. Dali’s whiskers sweep forward and then back again as the animal yawns placidly, seemingly oblivious to what’s happening inside Jack’s head. To Jack, it looks like utter contentment and for a moment he considers crawling back beneath his covers and asking Dali to change back into his human self, then maybe…

“Uh,” he says as he tries to reestablish some control over his libido, “I’m...I’ll be…” He huffs and sits down from where he’s stood up, perhaps searching for either his robes or his tunic, he’s quite forgotten at this point.

Dali’s purring grows a few decibels louder as he curls up, nose to tail. Jack strokes him again and decides that he needs tea before they attempt any type of _emotional_ discussion. He grabs his robes from the chair at the little desk in the corner and thrusts them up and over his arms, turning to regard the cat one last time before pulling the door to behind him. With a soft snick, the latch falls into place and Jack tries to ignore the odd feelings of both pride and astonishment expanding through him at having such a magnificent being in his personal space. The question of how he could keep him there crosses his mind as he makes for the kitchen.

*

Jack and Dali stay busy from the time the sun falls that night until just before dawn the next morning. The majority of their patients are young and middle-aged men, though there are some young women, as well: all magickers sporting bumps, bruises, scratches and at least two long slashes on arms that could only have been made by swords. Jack notes out loud that they are defense wounds and no one argues with him or denies it.

“What the hell is going on out there?” Jack turns to Dali right around four AM as he is closing the kitchen door behind three more young men, two with black eyes and a third with what he is certain is cracked ribs. He tells mister cracked ribs that he really needs better care than what Jack feels he is providing, but the red-haired man merely shakes his head ‘no’, thanks Jack and slips out into the dank twilight with the others. Jack’s mouth tightens as he watches the blood-stained but obviously victorious trio disappear in the direction of the street. He flicks his fingers at the candles burning all over the kitchen to snuff out half of them, instantly creating a more intimate atmosphere between himself and Dali.

Jack yanks a towel out of the big pocket Missy has sewn on the front of his brick red tunic and wipes his sweaty brow. Dali studies his friend, taking in the weary lines around Jack’s eyes, the firm set of his mouth and the exhausted tilt to his head and almost voices an apology for sleeping until supper time.

“It almost seems as if those young people,” Jack points towards the door, “have been doing nothing more than _brawling_.” He drops down into one of the kitchen in order to cross his forearms on the table then rests his chin on his arms, eyes slipping shut to allow him a moment of much-needed rest.

Dali snaps his fingers, conjures up a water basin and clean rags. Checking that the water is the correct temperature with his elbow, he dips in a clean white cloth then taps Jack’s arm.

Jack raises his head, eyes moving from Dali’s face to the damp cloth clutched lightly in long fingers and nods.

“Thanks,” he says, holding his arms out, palms up. The wizard makes short work of the task, movements efficient but gentle, almost caressing Jack’s muscular forearms. Jack watches him for a moment until Dali chances to meet the other man’s eyes. The rag stills and everything around them falls away. Magically, the light from the candles that are still burning dims even further, going from pale gold to lilac.

“Dali…” Jack starts.

“I think it has something to do with the group of people I saw the other day…” Dali tries.

The two men laugh at the eagerness of each get his own point across and their failure to actually say anything at all.

Dali closes his mouth and raises his eyebrows. “Go on,” he prods, dipping the cloth in the basin.

Jack watches him then clears his throat and pushes his chair away from the table. “Come here,” he says, holding his arms out wide.

Dali goes to him, unafraid and curious. “Here I am,” he says quietly, ebony robes swishing slightly as he unrolls the sleeves from where he pushes them up out of the way while working. Missy offered to tailor one of his tunics to be like Jack’s, but Dali prefers the comfort of his robes.

Jack takes both of his hands, looks up at him and smiles. “I never would have expected us to become friends so quickly, Dali.”

Dali nods, eyes glittery in the candlelight. Jack tightens his fingers.

“Actually, to be honest, I never would have expected to come home and make any friends right away. But that’s not what I want to say,” he looks at the floor for a moment, studies the glossy toe of Dali’s right boot then lets his gaze wander up the young man’s body until he meets those lovely amber eyes.

Dali inclines his torso, places one finger beneath Jack’s chin and lifts it. Never taking his eyes from Jack’s, he kisses him chastely, lips closed but yielding to the easy pressure. Their mouths tug slightly against one another when the kiss ends, because Dali is now kneeling on the hard wooden floor between Jack’s thighs, one hand resting against the dense muscle there and the other on the back of Jack’s neck.

Jack pulls back enough so that Dali’s face is in sharp focus, trying hard not to notice the broad hand that spans the back of his skull. He clears his throat as Dali leans in closer, warm, sweet-smelling breath lightly teasing the stubble over his top lip. The intense expression on the younger man’s face pulls the smile out of Jack until he knows he’s got to be grinning like a loon.

“Yes, Jack?” Dali asks, rubbing the side of his face against Jack’s in imitation of his feline alter. Dark stubble rasps against the top part of Jack’s cheek and catches on Jack’s wheaten stubble at the bottom.            

Jack as a flash of heat begins at the base of his spine then chuckles and runs his fingertips through Dali’s dark curls before he even processes the action that comes to him so naturally. Dali’s cheeks color up and Jack kisses him one more time. After a few moments, though, he pulls back to rest his head against the back of his chair then draws Dali closer by tugging at his robes. Dali steps into him and Jack closes his legs in order to rest their knees together. He allows his hands to slip from Dali’s slim hips, enjoying the decadent texture of the black material between his palms as he skims them over Dali’s robes.

Dali doesn’t move, merely watches the expression on Jack’s face as it changes from serene to something undefinable and back again. “Yes, Jack?” he repeats, this time allowing his voice to slip into a lower register; it rumbles in his chest just like the cat’s purr.

Jack studies Dali, enjoying the flush on his cheeks and the sight of the five-o’clock shadow that graces his jaw. He strokes his fingers against it, briefly; Dali closes his eyes and leans into the touch.

The house around them is silent. Harry is not home; she hasn’t been for days. Jack assumes Missy is asleep in her room at this hour. He recalls how she seemed completely unsurprised that they had an earlier-than-usual houseguest and even went out of her way to accommodate him. Not that the young man ever asks for much, Jack muses, he seems as satisfied with some left-over meat morsels off a plate for the cat as he does an omelet expertly portioned for the man.

Dali shifts his weight slightly, boot soles scuffing against the floor, the sound pulling Jack back into the present and reminding him that he really needs to say what’s on his mind before they get in too far.

Jack worries his bottom lip with his teeth.

“What’s wrong?” Dali asks, tone melding easily with what little background noise exists around them at this hour.

“I’m not sure how to say this, so hear me out, alright?” Jack’s hands fall to his lap.

Dali nods. Jack’s heart decides to see if it can come out of his chest on its own; he swallows against a throat gone dry.

“Right.” Jack casts his eyes about the room as if hoping what he wants to say is written down somewhere so he doesn’t have to actually say it. When nothing is forthcoming, he exhales and states very quickly: “Dali, I think you are aware of the fact that I want you. I do believe you are attracted to me, too, but I need to know how far you want this to go before I make a big mistake and push you too far or…”

Dali laughs and attempts to stifle it with one hand, making himself look even younger in the process. Jack’s heartbeat kicks up a notch.

“I have no idea what to make of that reaction,” he states as mildly as he is able given the fact that his heart has now taken up residence somewhere north of his Adam’s apple but south of his tonsils.

“Oh Jack,” Dali kneels back down between Jack’s knees, “I’m not really as young as all that.”

“What…oh!” Jack mutters, resting his hands on Dali’s shoulders.

Dali nudges Jack’s hand with his nose and grins. “Now it is your turn. Tell me what you want.”

Jack snorts, caresses the side of Dali’s face. “I thought that was already apparent.”

“Yes, it is. I know you are interested in something physical, but what about beyond that? Am I to be your assistant still or is that all you’re looking for?” Dali asks, sage and blunt. In other words: _Does this have an expiration date?_

Jack appreciates the forthrightness with such a difficult to discuss subject. “No, that’s not all I’m looking for. Honestly, I wasn’t even _looking_ for anything Dali, I guess it just sort of happened, yeah?” He runs his index finger across Dali’s top lip, inhaling sharply when he pokes his tongue out to swipe at it.

“Yeah,” Dali murmurs then pushes himself upward towards Jack’s mouth, big hands on Jack’s thighs, fingers arching as if they are claws. He stops short of their lips making contact, however, patiently waiting for the answer he needs to hear Jack actually put into words.

“Dali, you know I’ve been away for a very long time and there are things that may come up in the future that may affect you.”

Dali nods, his expression serious and attentive.

“Good. You’ve never really asked me about that, and really, I appreciate it…” Jack shakes his head when Dali opens his mouth to reply. “No, really, it’s fine. One day…ask me another time. Right now?” he grips the back of Dali’s head, pushing down enough so that their foreheads rest together. “This is about us. You and me…there can be an ‘us’ if you are interested.”

Jack really wants to shut himself up. These aren’t usually the kind of things he talks about—to anyone--though he knows that they need to be said. He wants his intentions to be clear; there’s certainly some new territory to cover here, to be sure, but he wants an open line of communication between them despite that fact.

“You won’t push?” Dali asks, leaving the unsaid part of the sentence _me for more than I can give_ hanging in the tiny fraction of a space between their shared breaths.

“No, Dali, look at me.” Jack prods the back of Dali’s head a little so that the other man will look into his eyes. “We are who we are. I understand that. Without a doubt we both have a history, but I’m willing to stick around and learn about yours. I guess what I should be asking you is if you are willing to stick around and learn about mine?”

Dali’s heart suddenly seems lighter. Even discovering his magic doesn’t compare. He laughs again, much less self-conscious than before.

“Yes,” he half-growls and surges upward to Jack’s mouth. This time when they come together, there’s a new electricity in the atmosphere, something not quite shiny and new to either of them, but fresh and clean and filled with hope, regardless of the storm clouds gathering in the icy darkness beyond the house.

“Jack, would you mind moving to the lounge?” Dali queries, shifting side to side on his knees from his spot on the floor between Jack’s thighs.

Jack blinks down at him for a few seconds, admiring Dali’s red, kiss-swollen lips and eyes almost as dark as a moonless night.

“Of course,” he answers, holding his arms out for Dali to pull himself up on. Dali turns away and Jack resists grabbing him by his robes and hauling him right back into his lap. Instead, he follows him to the sitting room, at once desiring that right now there should be no more space between them than absolutely necessary.

*

Missy wakes up around seven, as per her usual routine. Outside, the sky is gold and orange, the colors reflected back to her from the layer of frost on the grass in the tiny side-yard as miniature rainbow arcs. She runs through her morning ablutions after braiding her hair then gets dressed and heads out of her room to the kitchen, where she conjures up her favorite tea pot. After setting the pot on the table and leaving her first cup of the day to steep, she goes into the shop to check if any messages or lists have been stuck under the door. There’s several pieces of paper there, apparently dropped off late last night or long before she thought about getting out of bed. Crossing the room to the counter, she quickly sorts them into two piles: supplies she needs to gather before she opens for customers and orders that she can fill at her leisure.

Satisfied there’s enough organization going on to begin the day, she moves back into the kitchen and frowns at the cupboards, trying to decide what to make for breakfast. Apparently this is going to be one of the days where nothing sounds appetizing, so she calls up a plate of scones and then a bowl of butter from the cupboard where she keeps it in order to keep it soft enough to spread.

Missy is settling down with a book to read while she partakes of her breakfast when an odd noise carries through the house from the direction of the sitting room. She flips her book over on the table and pushes her chair back quietly. Perhaps one of Jack’s patients fell asleep here last night? From what she could hear the couple of times she had awoken during the night, it sounded like her brother and Dali stayed pretty busy from before she turned in to the wee hours of the morning.

The sound changes into a murmur and Missy is entirely too curious now to stop herself. She pads across the kitchen, feet still bare despite the chill of the wood. That reminds her that she’s been trying to come up with a spell for that…her thoughts cut off completely when she peeks into the other room.

Low vermillion flames flicker and shimmy in the fireplace, silently casting gray shadows over the rustic wood of the walls and furnishings in the pale dawn light. A burned out candle bobs about the ceiling and she points at it, bringing it to rest on the table beside the sofa. The very sofa where her brother sits upright, head tilted at what must be an uncomfortable angle. His face is slack, mouth closed and Missy reflects that it is the most relaxed she’s seen since he’s been home; his expression is calm and peaceful. One of his hands rests against the arm of the couch, the other gently curled around the shoulder of the man stretched out across the cushions, face pillowed on Jack’s thigh.

Missy smiles so hard she fears her face will crack. At some point, Dali has taken off his robes and used them as a blanket; they’ve slipped half off the sofa. A corner of the soft material is clutched in one hand while the other one is presumably under his ear. As she watches, Jack mutters and stirs a little. Dali then snuffles and makes a low, throaty sound in his chest that sounds to her like a pretty good rendition of the purr of a cheetah she saw at a traveling faire once when the Weston siblings were children.

She shakes her head and decides not to disturb them. As long as she’s known Dali, well, not really, because she believed him to be an actual cat for so long—well, she’s never really known him to look so content in all that time, anyway; and that goes doubly so for her big brother. Glad that it appears they’ve found each other, she magically stirs up the fire and leaves it crackling merrily, the noise neutral enough so as not to disturb the lovers.

 


	8. P.1: Chapter Nine

Returning home from the market at midday, Jack pauses on the threshold of the shop as his sisters’ raised voices carry in his direction. He pulls down his hood and wipes damp fingers on his cloak. Even with the hood, some of the moisture from the stew-thick fog outside clings to his hair and eyelashes. He wipes his hands over his eyes to clear it away.

Jack’s first thought is that they are only arguing amongst themselves, assumedly about how Harry hasn’t lifted a finger to help out around the place in weeks. However, he gets an earful of the subject of the row and realizes that it is much more serious than a domestic.

“…that nasty little mongrel shape-shifter!”

Harry’s voice always grows shriller the angrier she becomes; he knows from experience as a little brother…and right now he’s pretty sure her less-than-dulcet-tone would rip a hole in the time-space continuum if permitted to go on too much longer. He’s not about to allow that to happen, so he takes a step farther into the house, far enough to close the heavy door, then stops again when something glass smashes in the kitchen.

“Harry!” Missy shouts. “That’s my favorite teapot!”

Jack hears the shards tinkle and has no problem picturing Missy cleaning up the mess with a flick of her wrist and a snap of her fingers.

“See?” Harry scoffs.

Jack thinks she must be standing by the sink by the way her voice carries, so he stays where he is in order to remain undetected.

“Fuckin’ spellcasters got you doing everything their way, huh?”

Jack doesn’t particularly like the way Harry says ‘spellcasters,’ as if it’s a dirty word. He frowns and wonders how she could even say something like that; the girl who was always teasing Jack their whole lives about not having his magic when they were kids.

“Harry, what’s your problem? All you’ve done today is bitch and complain about our friends. And, oh please, don’t mistake me, because when I say ‘our,’ you better damned well believe I mean Jack’s and mine, not yours.” Missy is only rarely angry, but Jack can hear the fury beneath her reasonable tone.

There’s a loud clatter against the tabletop that could be another teapot, a clunkier one to be sure; it always takes Missy some time to build the spell back up when one of them gets broken. Jack wonders idly about the dainty cups Missy had conjured to go with that pot.

A strained silence permeates the house, effectively reaching out to touch Jack with the softness of a cactus and he thinks about seeing if he can find one for Dali’s plant project that he doesn’t realize Jack knows about. A man running about town asking for dead plants is hardly going to escape anyone’s attention, magicker or not, especially one with such undeniably unforgettable features as the wizard. A nasty, hysterical laugh scratches the silence and brings him back into the moment, picturing his sisters standing toe to toe.

“What do I need _your_ type of friends for? I’ve got my own. I’ve no need to play footsies with such useless rubbish as shape shifters…”

Jack’s eyes narrow at the sibilance in Harry’s mocking tone. That’s enough, he thinks, and rapidly decides not to eavesdrop anymore.

“That _is_ enough, Harry,” Jack growls, dropping the almost-forgotten package he is still holding onto the table. He steps back, hands lowered at his sides, fingers curled into fists, taking quiet note of how Missy’s normally jovial candles bounce and skitter around the ceiling, their flames solid white with black centers.

His baby sister stands where she’s obviously jumped up out of her chair, facing Harry, her back to Jack, every line in her body tense and defensive. Jack wishes he would have heard the beginning of the argument: this is not simply sibling bickering, this is something else entirely, something darker with little to no underlying affection at all.

Harry is indeed leaning against the sink and the first thing Jack notices is that she has cut her hair sometime recently. It is less than two inches thick all over her scalp and seems to actually be her natural color. Jack reflects that it has been years since he last knew it to be anything other than blue, purple, orange, flaxen or salmon.

“What have you done to yourself?” Jack asks, fully taking in her appearance. A brown coat with a sheepskin collar hangs open to reveal a plain white tunic; the coat is long enough that the tails brush Harry’s calves. That’s not what gets to him, however. What he focuses on is the leather strap running from her left shoulder to right hip that can only be one thing: a strap holding a sword scabbard to her back, angled in order to keep it handy. Just over her shoulder peeks a shiny silver pommel and the sight of it makes Jack even angrier.

“Harry, what is that doing in my house?” Jack points to the sword.

Harry laughs again, “I should have known you’d notice it, of all people.”

Jack crosses his arms over his chest. He is not ashamed of his service, he merely believes it isn’t something that needs to be discussed to death. “What do you take me for, Harriet?” he grinds his teeth, working to maintain his temper.

“A magic licker.” Harry narrows her eyes now, her thin mouth twists in disappointment around her hissed words.

“What did you say?” Jack murmurs and cocks his head, keeping his arms locked because he doesn’t trust himself now.

“I called you what you are, Jacky-boy! The grapevine is ripe ‘round ole Lamden town, you know. Heard you been making the beast with two backs with that wastrel. What will ever become of you, Jack? Friends with shape shifters! I thought you’d never go so low!”

Harry doesn’t move a muscle yet but Jack is a seasoned fighter, he can tell from the glint in her eyes that she’s going to do something. He is already forcing himself between his sisters when her right hand grasps the sword in one smooth movement and aims the point directly at his chest with practiced ease.

“Harry, you touch me with that thing and it will be the last thing you do in this world.” Jack steps easily into his commanding persona; it fits him like a bespoke glove.

Harry lowers the sword by relaxing her wrist, but it doesn’t touch the floor. Ironically, Jack is a bit proud to see that whoever taught her this at least taught her respect for the weapon. He takes one step back, pushing Missy towards the table, bodily moving her from his side to behind him.

When he speaks again, his voice is low and controlled, almost inaudible over the harsh breathing of the three of them. “Have you forgotten who you are, Harriet? The hours you spent begging the Goddess to give you your magick so you wouldn’t stand out? Remember all the time you spent teasing me when we were kids? Where do you get off calling anyone in this family a magic licker?”

“Jack,” Missy says from behind him. She rests a hand on his shoulder but he’s so keyed up now, he can’t stop himself from shrugging it off. Missy knows her brother enough to back off for the time being.

Jack leans toward Harry, knowing full well that her three inches on his height will always cancel out the intimidation yet feeling the need to do it anyway. Before he realizes it, he’s in her space with his index finger in her face and nothing but a sword between them.

“Harry, I don’t know what’s going on with you! You’re going to have to leave if you can’t leave our friends out of whatever petty bullshit you’ve gone and dug yourself into.” He bites back _this time_ , but to everyone in the room the words are clearly audible as if he shouted them.

Harry’s eyes gleam as she flicks them from her brother to her sister and back again as if she’s just learned something interesting. “Friends?”

“Yes, Harry, ‘friends.’ Or has it been so long, you’ve forgotten what that word even means?” Jack has the presence of mind to step back again. He doesn’t go far, however, subconsciously keeping Harry’s attention on him. “Dali and Justin…”

“Justin? Justin Sipple? The pub-owner’s son?” Harry interrupts him, her voice almost normal now, and her expression softer, more faraway. She keeps her palm flat on the pommel of the sword, fingers lightly curved, the short, blunt nails of her first and index fingers grazing the copper hilt.

Jack hears Missy’s strained gasp, though it doesn’t register in his brain because he is frankly more concerned about the two-foot long blade _right there_ being handled by a woman who is known for being impetuous at the best of times. He really, really doesn’t want to end his day performing healing spells on himself because he’s been skewered by his eldest sister. He raises his hand in the stale air between them, fingers spread and palm facing Harry.

“Harry, what’s really going on?” Jack demands cautiously, keeping a close watch on her expressions in hopes that there will be some warning as to what her next action is going to be.

Harry laughs again, that laugh that is quickly becoming a thing of nightmares to her siblings. It makes Missy want to curl up into a ball and hide; it makes Jack think of darker things, oily things that won’t wash from your skin, no matter how much hot water and home-conjured soap you apply.

“You stupid fools!” Harry cries, raising the sword back to Jack’s eye level. She makes an aborted thrust with it and he yanks his head backward, all too educated about well-honed blades exactly like that one. Unconsciously, as if to remind him, his arm begins to ache dully.

“Harry!” Missy shouts and rushes forward. Jack stops her with one hand.

“Don’t,” he orders, his fingers stretched against her pale yellow tunic in the space over her heart. He shakes his head slowly in warning, never taking his eyes off Harry.

Harry turns the blade back and forth in her hand, the sharp edge making a _whisk_ sound through the air that seems as thick as the fog outside. Missy’s candles above their heads brighten and dim, brighten and dim.

“You magic lickers. Can’t you see what’s happening? The Leader will get everything back to the way it was before the vileness was released on the world! These people, they are _mutations_ in the human genome! Yet you all worship them and seek to copy them. Stupid fools.” Harry mutters the last part to herself as she continues waving the sword. A sheen of sweat has sprung up across her forehead.

Jack eyes her critically. “What are you talking about?”

Before she answers, however, the three of them react to Dali opening the back door in as many different ways: Missy calls out to him, trying to prevent him from wading into the danger without being aware. He freezes with one foot in the door and one still on the step outside.

Jack, ever the protector, attempts to force Harry’s focus to remain on him by making a quick duck and grabbing for the hilt of the sword.

Harry, for her part, her reactions entirely too quick for the novice Jack believes her to be, turns on her heel while at the same time slashing out with the blade. Jack slows her down, but just. He yanks downward when she thrusts, which pulls her off balance. Instinctively, Jack rolls and yells a spell at the same time. Everything whirls about them in a kaleidoscopic mess then it all freezes.

When time starts again, Harry is levitating off the tiles about three feet, her arms flung wide and held there by the force of not only Jack’s, but also Missy’s and Dali’s spells. The sword clatters to the floor with a deafening sound. There’s a red sheen to it, though, it is unclear at the moment who was actually cut: Harry or Jack?

“Enough.” Jack looks first at Missy who is standing at his shoulder, arm straight out towards Harry, her body trembling. He turns his eyes to Dali, who has finally stepped fully into the house, though the door is wide open, allowing a chill breeze to wander through the room, filtering in fresh air and helping dissipate some of the tension between the Westons. The light beyond the door is muted from the heavy fog that rolled in late last night and has not dissolved because the sun has not yet managed to penetrate the cold, damp mist and burn it off.

Jack stares down at the floor now then turns his attention to his eldest sister, bound by three very individual and very different cords of energy. Missy’s pulses gold and pink, Dali’s deep blue, a shade so dark it’s almost black, and Jack’s, a mixture of both gold and silver with a thread of deep blue running through the center of it. White, gold, and silver sparks fizz and pop among them without producing any lasting heat.

Between the triple arcs of power, Harry’s face is scarlet, painted in the rage and jealous vindictiveness that’s been building in her heart for so long. “Let me go,” she hisses.

“On one condition.” Jack is unaccustomed to holding his magic for so long and his arm is beginning to shake, muscles tightening against each other from lack of practice. Dali steps closer, right hand still up, fingers light on the line the way they would be if he were driving a horse and carriage. With his left hand, he reaches out towards Jack and draws off some of the energy of his spell. Instantly, the spasms of the muscles in Jack’s arm fade.

Harry grins down at them maniacally. “What is it?” she spits out as if still wanting to impale Jack on whatever she has at her disposal.

“You don’t come back.”

Missy sniffles but her arc does not change in any way.

“You can’t do that to me, this is my home.” Harry grits her teeth.

Jack is sure she will have at least a few small burns tomorrow, but he’s beyond his capacity for patience for her now. “I don’t know who this leader is that you seem to be preaching for…”

“I’m not preaching, Jacky-boy. I’m giving you the truth,” Harry cuts him off.

“No.” Dali says, cleverly piecing the whole story together in a few moments. He stands with both arms out at his sides, almost a mockery of Harry’s position; he shakes his head. “No. It is not the truth. Those are lies, Harriet Weston.” Dali’s tone is soft, yet confident.

“Oh please, why are you magic lickers are all the same?” Harry cries, fighting against the bonds that hold her, causing her leather coat to flap about uselessly. “You all think that this new found _mutation_ is a godsend! You will never be the humans you aspire to be…”

“Harry,” Missy’s plea is ignored.

“You have to leave, Harry, and stay gone. Whatever is happening out there,” Jack points towards the swinging back door with his free hand. “Whatever it is, we aren’t part of it.”

“You only know a piece, little brother. Just a tiny fraction of the Plan that will bring humanity back to what it should be! Look how weak we have become by allowing these…these mistakes…these freaks of nature to survive amongst us!”

Harry is so worked up now that there is froth flying from her lips. Missy is weeping softly, tears running down her cheeks. Even so, the hold on her magic is steely.

“Get. Out.” Jack drops his hand, cuts off his part of the bond.

Missy and Dali let theirs go at the same time and Harry is falls into a heap against the wooden floor. No one moves to help nor hinder her. She clambers to her feet and grabs her sword, then seems to think twice about it and lunges toward Jack.

It’s a false movement, though, enough to make him surge towards her and away from the others. He says nothing, only gestures towards the door.

“Fuck you. Fuck all of you. As if I would ever come back,” she mutters as she turns her back on them and replaces the sword into its scabbard. “You’ve given me what I needed, so thanks for that.” Harry stops on the threshold and rests her fingers on the doorjamb. “When the storm breaks loose, you can’t cry that I didn’t try to warn you.”

With that petty announcement, she steps out into the murky daylight and slams the door behind her. Jack reaches out for Missy, wraps her in his arms and lets her cry into his shoulder. He hears Dali reopen the back door and then the scrape of the ‘open for business’ sign they keep hanging there being turned around. As the wizard returns, Jack catches his eye and he nods in gratitude. Dali points towards the shop, Jack nods again, his eyes following the wizard as he walks through the kitchen, presumably to close the shop up, as well.

After a few minutes, Missy pulls away and looks up at her brother with wide, glassy eyes. She wipes at her tears and sniffs. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Missy, I’m sorry. I should have cottoned on to her sooner than this. Who knows what information we’ve been feeding her…” Jack stops, realization crashing over him. “Oh god, she didn’t know about Justin?”

Missy shakes her head, still fighting tears. She nods when Dali pushes a hot cup of tea into her hand.

Jack bites his bottom lip and grinds his teeth. “Dali, are you sure you’ve seen her with the cultists?” Since no one in town except those part of the long-coated, sword-wearing group Dali spotted outside the market knows what they call themselves, Dali and Jack have taken to calling them ‘the cultists’ for want of a better label.

“Yes,” Dali answers, pressing a cup into Jack’s hand now. “I did, several days ago. I told you, Jack, but I should have told you, too, Missy.”

“No, it’s…fine, I guess.” Missy pushes her chair back up to the table and sits down. She sips from her cup. “I don’t really understand what they’re up to, but I have a pretty good idea that you two have been seeing the results of whatever it is every night, haven’t you?”

Jack nods. Dali wraps his arm around Jack’s waist and Jack leans into him, just enough to share the burden. He nods his head sharply and Dali’s hand tightens on his hip. The younger man is positively radiating heat, Jack can feel it soaking through his traveling cloak and through his tunic and into his skin and he is suddenly glad to have a night off of caring for their neighbors.

Missy is silent for few moments, contemplating her tea. She looks up at them. “Is Justin in trouble? Do I need to send out a warning to him?”

Dali shakes his head, “I don’t think so. Not right now anyway; no more than the rest of us are. So far, they’ve done nothing in broad daylight and he stays in the pub most nights, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, I believe so. Unless he’s here.” Missy speaks the truth, Justin has been around more often, but usually during the daylight hours when Jack and Dali are resting, either together in Jack’s or alone in their respective beds in their respective homes.

Jack reluctantly moves away from his lover, dropping wearily into the chair opposite his sister. “I believe it is time to start considering some protective wards.”

Missy and Dali voice their agreements and after a bit of quiet time, they begin working on plans.

***

Jack eventually puts together a supper for the three of them. After picking at her plate for twenty minutes, Missy begs leave and heads to her room. The sounds of her spellwork and then the splash of water tell him that she’s settling in for a soak. Jack is unaware that he is staring off into the ether until Dali clasps his hand and says his name.

“Jack?” Dali’s expression is intense, concerned.

“I’m fine, Dali, really. I always expect something out of her, but I didn’t see that coming. What could she possibly be mixed up in?” Jack rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, elbows resting on the tabletop.

The wizard watches him, waiting on a cue to tell him what to do next. “We were strong, the three of us.”

“Yes, I agree,” Jack nods, lightly running his fingers over the back of Dali’s hand. “That was some pretty amazing spell casting. Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” Dali’s breath hitches as Jack’s fingers stray beneath the sleeve of his robes, then up his forearm.

“What you did, taking over my line like that—that was amazing. No one has ever done that before.” Jack says honestly.

“Really?” Dali pulls his chair in closer to the table using his feet. “I would think that was something soldiers did all the time.” Instantly, he wants to grab the words right back and hide them the way he usually does, but his curiosity is killing him.

Jack graces him with a look and a slight narrowing of his eyes, then huffs. “Alright, I’ll answer that one.”

Dali smiles, a small one, and drops his eyes to where Jack is now drawing circles on the back of his hand, fingers skimming over his knuckles and around his wrist.

“No, that isn’t something soldiers do often—if ever.” Jack’s finger stills, pressing at the very center of Dali’s hand; he goes back to his invisible sketching when he speaks again. “In fact, in the years I served, I can’t say I ever saw it. You’ve got to understand that out there? Out there it is kill or be killed. Granted, we could have saved our side any number of pointless deaths by using magick—but that isn’t what we were trained to do. Honestly, my magick has grown more since I’ve been home, and with you, than it did between the time I finally got it and served my last tour of duty.”

Jack closes his eyes, his hand covering Dali’s and linking their fingers together.

“Even as a doctor?” Dali can’t help but ask.

Jack shakes his head, opens his eyes; dark blue orbs are serious as he peers into Dali’s amber ones. “No.”

With that, the subject is closed and Dali is more than aware that he will get no more answers.

Jack stands, tugging gently on Dali’s hand. “Let’s turn in and rest for a bit, yeah?”

***

From where he sits against the headboard of his bed, Jack watches Dali’s every move as the wizard slowly strips himself. The only light in the room is the last rays of golden from a fading twilight and the crackling flames from the small fireplace opposite the bed.

“This may sound trite, but have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” Jack asks, eyes taking in Dali’s smooth skin. The fire throws shadows as well as brightness at the younger man, alternately highlighting and shading his strong features: the crest of a well-formed hip leading to a taut, muscular thigh; sharp cheekbones painted with a faint flush on them now, an artistic chin, unique eyes.

Dali lowers himself to the mattress and proceeds to crawl up to his lover, cat like, before straddling his bare thighs. Jack wraps his arms around Dali, hands grasping and pulling him closer. In the manner of many people of tall stature, Dali ducks his head and rounds his shoulders so that Jack doesn’t have to reach up too far to kiss him. A pleasant tingle passes between them in the spot where lips brush. Jack reaches up to cup Dali’s strong chin in his hand and tilts his head in order to deepen their kiss. Dali goes willingly, offering himself as a balm to the emotional upheaval of the events of the day. They are quiet, considerate of Missy in her own room down the hall. 

But he wants, too, so he begins a slow, drawn-out grind with his hips. They lose themselves in one another for a while, hands working together to raise their pleasure beyond their current plane of existence. Jack holds back his own climax until Dali spills earthy and hot over his hand and when he follows, Dali’s hands on his shoulders are living anchors that stop him spiraling out into the vast unknown of hurt and rejection of his past, keeping him grounded in the depth of feeling between them in the here-and-now. When they curl up beneath the blankets and a few tears slip from Jack's eyes, neither man makes mention of it, but Dali kisses him again, sweetly, lovingly, and whispers reassurances for the future that they will share. 

The moon comes out, full and round and ever bright as the fog clears, leaving the night clear and cold. In his dreams, Jack thanks the Goddess for the good things in his life and tightens his arms around Dali's slim body. The young wizard smiles and nuzzles Jack's neck, effortlessly falling back into slumber.


	9. P.1: Chapter Ten

The nights continue to grow longer and busier as winter officially begins to settle in. Harry never returns home, though Dali keeps Jack and Missy aware of her movements whenever he happens to see her on one of this daytime excursions. He doesn’t run into her often, only occasionally catching a glimpse, but that glimpse is enough to tell him that she’s running around with the group he and Jack have termed ‘The Cultists.’

The Cultists remain hanging around the outskirts of Lamden, never seeming to actually _be_ in the town at all, though Dali thinks they’ve got to be procuring sustenance somehow. Maybe some of the vendors in the market are giving them handouts? That certainly bears more consideration. He begins making his rounds of the town four times a week now instead of two, eyes and ears open for anything troublesome.

Sadly, Dali only catches snippets of gossip here and there: someone’s son was beaten pretty badly during a street brawl, someone else’s daughter picked up and left town after discovering her powers…so on and so forth, all the stories are the same. Officer Greyson has little to add: he’s caught a couple of the Cultists bullying people about, but there’s never enough damage done to chase them out of town. Thankfully, though, none of the ‘non magick’ folk seem to be picking up on Jack’s work as a healer or his part in assisting. For that matter, Dali never really hears his name in the whispers that circle around the town with a life of their own; he isn’t entirely sure how to feel about that. Granted, he never really wanted anyone in particular to know who he is, but there are times when he feels like he should stand on the rooftops and shout out Jack’s name so that everyone might now the depth of goodness in the other man’s heart.

At this point in time, however, it seems being _unknown_ may be the best thing going.

For his own protection, Dali has stopped writing down on paper anything he discovers. It’s just a little thing, really, but it makes him feel…something that he hasn’t tried to name yet. Instead, he’s been relaying the information to Jack and Robert, and sometimes even Justin, who he’s beginning to trust in small measures, so that they all have a handle on what is happening around them, which, in truth, turns out to be very little of absolutely nothing.

Nothing that cannot simply be written off as too much ale at the pub or young men squabbling over broken hearts. The Cultists hardly speak to anyone, so there’s no telling what their true business is, beyond the shaky rumors of someone named ‘The Leader.’

Dali has no opinion about the Cultists, either way, really: it’s the tears and broken bones that Dali despises, and the bruises, and the long, thin gashes made by swords so sharp that can slice through fog—those things that he _knows_ are happening _because_ of them, and that he has no real proof of.

 _Yet_.

*

It so happens that a week prior to Yuletide, Dali is following Jack by stepping into his boot prints with his own through a crunchy blanket of snow on the border of the forest outside the town limits. They are both outfitted in thick fur-lined coats, tall winter boots, gloves and knitted caps. It is Jack’s idea to retrieve Missy’s Yule Tree from this particular forest; Dali was fine with the idea but insists on using magic to get the thing back to the shop because there is no way he is going to trek out there in the snow and drag back one of the thick-trunked blue pines by hand.

Dali informs Jack of this fact then follows up his statement by crossing his hands over his chest when they are standing on the stoop outside the shop. Jack considers the wisdom of the idea, then thinks that if they are far enough out there certainly shouldn’t be anyone around to bother them; when they get closer to town, they can always simply carry the thing or have Missy summon it to the house if need be. With a quick press of his lips to the tip of Dali’s nose, Jack agrees and they start out.

It is midmorning and the sunlight filters wanly through the evergreens. Long shadows mark their trail and their breaths are steamy puffs in front of their faces. The men don’t talk much until Jack points out certain trees then asks Dali his opinion. They are only looking for something small, but with a wide enough base not to worry that whatever Missy decorates it with that it will fall.

Finally spotting a tree about a head shorter than himself, Jack calls Dali close to him and gestures. Dali studies the tree then grabs one of the branches and shakes it, making sure it won’t shed too many needles all over the sitting room floor. Only a couple are knocked loose and they lay on the snow like sapphires.

“Looks good to me,” Jack informs him.

“I think so.” Dali agrees then steps out of the way.

Casually as if he is doing nothing other than maybe pointing out an interesting animal, Jack swings his fist at his side. In a matter of seconds, the pretty pine tree falls to its side, its crash pillowed by the snow. Jack looks it over then slips a glove off in order to stroke the firm dark blue needles. When he finally speaks, his gaze is so far away that Dali remains silent, listening as the timbre of Jack’s voice only adds to the loudly quiet atmosphere of the old forest made conspicuous by the fact that there really are no noises other than themselves, their respirations and their heartbeats.

“Missy was a beautiful baby. She was Mum’s favorite, right from the beginning. She had these big eyes and a headful of this fuzzy hair; she was adorable.” Jack is grinning as he continues to speak, holding his hands around his head as if to wrap them around a halo. “So, you can imagine, that when she was three and Yuletide well on its way—like now, in fact—well, there was nothing that little girl couldn’t have. When she stated most emphatically that she wanted nothing for Yuletide except for a _bwue_ tree in the lounge—well, Dad clapped me on the shoulder, handed me a pair of heavy gloves and out to the woods we trudged. Dad led old Jasper, his big brown mule, and Jasper pulled the sledge.” Jack gestures towards the trees, his eyes roving the horizon as if replaying the whole scene in his mind. He shakes his head, chuckling. “It took us four hours and we were just about frozen at the end of our adventure, but Missy got her blue true.”

Jack regards the tree at his feet. “Of course, then, these blue things weren’t very common. Now we have entire forests of them,” he looks up at Dali, “But that was the first year we had a _bwue_ one, and it sort of became tradition for our family after that. Until I signed up, that is.”

Dali doesn’t ask Jack to clarify. “You used a horse and a sledge?”

Jack grins, pearly teeth as bright as the snow, blue eyes sparkling, everything made brighter by the dark trunks standing at attention around them. “You know, I remember thinking later that Mum could have just put a spell on a plain green one, but Dad wouldn’t hear of it. It wasn’t that he was down on magick or anything, even though he didn’t have it, he just liked doing things the ‘old’ way…he was like that about everything, so, yeah, we had a sledge.”

For a minute, they stand close, shoulders touching. “How old were you?” Dali asks lowly, so that if Jack chooses not to answer, he can pretend he didn’t hear.

“When Missy was three? I was five. It was a big deal that I got to go out with Dad.”

“And Harry?” Dali grasps Jack’s gloved hand in his own and together they levitate the tree so that it skims over the snow at about Jack’s knee level.

Jack looks over his shoulder, “Harry stayed home with Mum and they conjured up some hot cocoa with these really bizarre bright yellow marshmallows…but that’s not what you’re really asking me is it?”

Dali shrugs, his eyes on the tree as he turns to follow Jack. He idly brushes a single snowflake from one of the needles.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s not something I can talk about, but you should know the facts. I was twenty one when I signed up, I served for  nine years.” Jack’s expression hardens minutely and now that Dali is walking beside him, he sees it clearly. “I was your age, Dali, and so ready to see the world. I had everything in front of me, everything. I didn’t want any of it, not really.”

Dali doesn’t particularly relish the wistful tone in Jack’s voice; it makes him sad for the younger version of his lover that he will never know. They continue on in silence for a bit, each man alone with his thoughts. Snow begins to drift down upon them in lazy circles as if children are blowing bubbles from the treetops.

An odd strangled-sounding cry to the west causes both of them to pause mid-step. The floating tree trembles a little then gently falls to the ground. Dali and Jack’s eyes meet, Jack points in the direction of the sound and Dali nods before dropping to all fours and changing into his cat form so fast that the air around him shimmers. Jack scoops up Dali’s coat and drapes it over the tree, stuffing the gloves into the pockets and moving the boots under the edge of the coat to keep the snow out of them.

After that, Jack rushes forward as best he can over the drifts of snow that become thicker the farther back into the forest they go, easily keeping the ebony coat of the cat in sight. When he finally catches up with Dali, the cat is trotting in circles around what at first appears to be a blood-stained lump of iced or matted hair sunk halfway into a rather shallow snowdrift.

Dali stops his circling and sits down on his haunches in order to look up at Jack, opening his mouth and meowing plaintively. Upon closer inspection, Jack finds that it turns out that it’s a bunch of wet, bloody fur, apparently belonging to the back of some small mammal.

“I see it,” Jack tells the cat before reaching down gently to see if the body in the snow has any life left in it to help. Beneath his hand he can feel a faint push-pull of muscles that tells him whatever this happens to be, it is certainly alive. Jack moves his hand until he can get a rough idea of its pulse—irregular but strong—then uses both hands to scoop the creature from its frigid, damp cradle.

As carefully as possible in his gloved hands, Jack moves the animal around in his arms to better see it and discovers that it is a white stoat, ears and paws tipped in black. Once she begins to feel the warmth, she opens bright blue eyes and simply watches him. Jack smiles reassuringly and strokes her head with a fingertip. She closes her eyes and seems content to stay right where she is.

“Well, now, this is interesting. Missy’s always wanted a pet…” Jack’s mutter trails off as the stoat snuggles deeper against his chest.

“Not a pet,” Dali states as he uses a ‘come here’ gesture to summon his coat and boots back to him. “Take your gloves off.”

Jack frowns over at him, watching long enough to enjoy the sight of the young wizard shrugging into his coat from behind, the play of muscles in his glutes and thighs certainly worth pausing for. He tears his eyes away and tugs at one of his gloves with his teeth. Jack doesn’t even have to actually touch the stoat before a single bright spark is emitted from its fur. The stoat gives him a look that says he should have already clearly known what she is then makes a chirp.

“I don’t believe it, another shape shifter. Am I some kind of magnet for you guys?” Jack asks, looking around for Dali. The wizard is heading back in the direction of the tree. “I think I read somewhere once there’s only like, I don’t know, one percent of born magickers who can shape shift—how is it that I know three of them now?”

Dali merely hums under his breath and holds his hands out over the tree. It levitates, but only a few inches off the ground. “My spell’s not a strong as yours, but I think it will do,” he says, treating Jack’s question as if it is rhetorical.

“Works for me. Besides, once we get close enough, Missy can just call it to the house. I know she’d had visions of us bringing it in for her, but with this new addition to our little club here, I think she’ll understand.”

Dali smiles; that, coupled with his flushed cheeks and windblown curls makes Jack grin right back at him and think that the day has been rather successful. He unbuttons his coat some and tucks the stoat into it against the heavy wool tunic that he is wearing. She is compliant and even offers another contented little chirp for his trouble that he’s sure would be am exhausted sigh for a human being.

“Little girl, I need you to try and be still. I’m not quite sure where you are injured, but I’ll—we’ll try to help so hang on, okay?”

Naturally, the white weasel doesn’t answer him, though he is fairly certain that the answer would be in the affirmative considering how she’s burrowed against him. He pulls the bottom of his tunic upward and tucks it into the collar, effectively making a sling against his chest, then buttons his coat back up. Injured or no, there’s not any way he can tell how long she was in the snow and warmth is his number one priority.

“Thank you, Jack,” Dali murmurs, squeezing Jack’s arm.

Jack chuckles, “Plants today, stoats tomorrow. What’s next, Dali, people?”

Dali shakes his head and frowns a little. “Don’t we already do that?”

Jack laughs and pats Dali’s shoulder, “Indeed we do!”

It takes them a little over an hour to get back to the town’s limits. They leave the tree at the edge of the forest where Dali slips easily back into his feline alter. Jack picks up the discarded clothing, slinging Dali’s coat over his shoulder and carrying his boots in his left hand; he cradles the stoat a bit closer to his chest with his right.

Dali the cat trots a little ways ahead, his tail held high in the air. With a quick look over his shoulder, he transitions easily into a gallop and is out of sight in no time at all. By the time Jack reaches the shop, Missy has already summoned the tree, made tea and set a pile of clean towels on the kitchen table.

Jack inhales deeply, breathing in the smells of hearth and home as he steps into the warmth of the candlelight, unbuttoning his coat at the same time. He stops in front of the table and gently tugs the stoat out of the make-shift sling and sets her down in the middle of the pile of towels. As if magnetized to Jack’s person, all of the candles in the kitchen float effortlessly to hover over his head, making it easier to see her injuries.

“I need to check out your back, alright? I’d rather you not shift until I can see what is wounded, is that okay?” Jack asks, prodding carefully at the wound he can see clearly now since Dali is wiping away the dried blood with a piece of soft, white linen.

The stoat trills nervously, her small body trembling, but she remains still as Jack takes his time to study the wound. In the sitting room, Missy is humming and presumably setting up her tree.

“It isn’t a spell wound,” Jack informs Dali. “Can you hand me…”

He doesn’t really need to ask, though, because after working so closely for the past few months, Dali is beginning to recognize which salves and medicines Jack will request for certain types of wounds. Grinning, he holds out a small glass vial of viscous fluid; Jack dabs a little on his fingertips and applies it to the red gash that stands out in stark contrast to the stoat’s white fur and pink skin.

Jack counts down from ten, closes his eyes and holds his palm above the wound. The little animal whimpers as the sides of gash begins to knit together. Finally, Jack is satisfied and steps back. The little weasel stretches out against the clean towels then arches her back and spreads her toes. After a few moments, she yawns and sits up on her haunches, wide blue eyes on Jack’s face.

“She’s asking permission to change,” Dali informs Jack.

“That’s fine, go ahead,” Jack urges, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Hold on, remember how much I’ve had to practice to retain my robes…” Dali trails off, raising his eyebrows when Jack gets it.

“Oh! Missy have you got a spare set of robes around for our new friend?” Jack calls to his sister.

“Sure, gimme a mo.”

In no time at all, a dusky pink set of robes flies into the kitchen, landing on Jack’s shoulder. He holds them up as if to help someone put them on and is surprised at how quickly a pair small, delicate hands are grasping the soft material. He turns his head in order to give the shape shifter some privacy, a little late after the fact, but he doesn’t see anything other than a flash of what could be a pale, freckly shoulder.

“Hi,” says the wisp of a girl who is now standing beside the kitchen table. She is thin with black hair that is cut short against her skull. Beneath her cerulean eyes are dark circles that would look like bruises to any but the trained eye. She stands with her arms wrapped around herself but meets Jack’s eyes when he holds out a hand.

“It is good to meet you…” he trails off, hoping she’ll fill in the blank.

“Thank you for rescuing me, I couldn’t have gone much further.” She turns to regard Dali who passes her a hot beverage that she sips at cautiously. “I’m Remy,” she tells them, keeping her eyes on the steam coming from the mug she’s got her fingers wrapped around.

“What happened out there, Remy?” Dali asks, pulling a chair from the table while Jack nudges her towards it.

Remy sits down, still regarding her cup. “This hot chocolate is wonderful,” she murmurs, the sound shadowed by a loud grumble. “Excuse me.”

Jack and Dali give each other a look and Jack raises a hand to summon up some biscuits. Dali shakes his head and points into the sitting room. Jack grins.

“Heh, Missy, ready for supper?”

“Jack, it’s the middle of the day and, oh!” Missy stops at the edge of the counter. “Well, hello!” She turns to her brother, “I thought you said you had an injured animal…”

“We did. This is Remy, her shift is a white stoat.” Dali informs Missy as he fusses with his robes. He finally yanks them over his head and unceremoniously drops them to the floor behind his chair. He’s wearing a similar grey wool tunic to Jack’s and his face is slightly flushed, the curls on his forehead damp with sweat. “What?” he asks, taking in Missy’s grin and Jack’s rather predatory expression; Remy still hasn’t moved. “It’s hot in here!”

“Yes, I do believe it is.” Jack states with a deep-throated chuckle.

Missy shakes her head and starts summoning food for the four of them.

 

After supper, Missy is curled up on the end of the sofa with her legs tucked up and a small basket of sewing in her lap. Dali and Jack are busy in the kitchen with a pair of twin brothers sporting between them three broken ribs and a fractured wrist. Remy, in her stoat alter, is stretched out on the rug in front of the hearth sleeping. Missy only has two candles lit, both of them on her right side, allowing her to see what she’s working on. The tree is decorated, but none of the candles on its blue boughs are lit at the moment. The sitting room is peaceful, save for the low murmur of the men’s voices in the kitchen and the occasional chirpy-bark of the little animal in front of the fire.

Missy hears the back door close, another murmur of voices, then a low chuckle and a different kind of silence. She smiles and attempts to return to her stitching, but her attention is drawn to a hiss.

Justin, as the yellow ferret, stands on the threshold nose-to-nose with Remy. Their hackles are raised, eyes wild and teeth bared.

“Justin, she’s our guest!” Missy calls out. The ferret takes two steps backwards and shifts, ending with Justin holding his palms out towards the now-growling stoat.

“Easy! Easy! I didn’t mean anythin’, I didn’t even realize you were a girl…”

From the couch, Missy rolls her eyes. “Remy,” she calls soothingly, “Remy, he’s a friend, too.”

The stoat angles her head so she’s staring up at Justin. She doesn’t back away, instead stands her ground.

“She’s a shifter, then?” Justin asks, eyes moving from the white weasel blocking his way into the room then to Missy and back again.

“Yep. Jack and Dali came across her in the woods this morning,” Missy gestures towards the now-decorated tree. Justin nods and she continues, “she was injured pretty badly, but Jack’s spell were up to the task. Are you going to sit down?”

“Well,” Justin starts, gazing quizzically at the stoat, “is she going to tear my face off, or what?”

Missy looks down at the stoat who is sitting on her haunches appearing for all the world to be waiting on a bus. “Oh, sorry about that Remy, I forgot.”

Remy blinks in gratitude as the pink robe Missy gave her earlier glides from the sofa to the floor.

“Turn around,” Missy tells Justin.

Justin turns around and faces the kitchen, dramatically covering his eyes with his hand. “Just so you know, this isn’t really what I feel like watching at the moment, though I have to admit your brother apparently has some skills…Ouch! What did you throw that at me for?”

Missy frowns as she holds up the robes. Remy is so slight that the girl almost drowns in them. She faces Justin to see him rubbing the side of his face, though he’s about ready to bite into the apple that hit him, so he must not be too upset.

“Why don’t you two get a room?” he snickers, grinning roguishly at Missy. “Ow!” he cries and Missy laughs louder this time.

“I have a room!” Jack calls back from the kitchen.

“Not for tonight you don’t!” Missy informs the entire household as she curls back up on the sofa. Justin plops down next to her, plants a little kiss on her nose and stretches an arm over the back of the couch.

Jack appears in the doorway. “What do you mean by that?”

Behind him there’s a soft rustling sound and then Dali crosses the room and jumps up on the arm of the sofa opposite Missy. Remy has made herself comfortable in one of the armchairs, feet tucked under herself in a mirror image of Missy. She isn’t speaking, but at least she no longer looks frightened half to death.

Jack sits down next to Dali, running the flat of his hand down the cat’s back. Dali closes his eyes, folds his paws under his chest and begins to purr. Suddenly, the candles on the Yule tree in the corner jump to life. He purrs a little more as he makes himself comfortable in Jack’s lap.

“We are not sleeping on the sofa,” Jack informs the cat. He doesn’t get a reply. “Why are you kicking me out, we still have Ha…”

There’s an unspoken agreement between the last two Weston siblings that they do not discuss their eldest sister. Missy glares at Jack then points her needle at Remy.

“Yes, okay, then, that’s fine. Remy, you are welcome to stay in my room tonight. I’ll go bunk with Dali.” There’s a bit of a stirring on his lap and Dali’s kneads his thigh with a six-toed paw. “I don’t think he minds. Besides, I’ve never seen your place.”

The conversation between the four of them waxes and wanes until Justin decides it’s time to go home. Missy sees him out. When they leave the room, Jack decides to see if he can get Remy to talk to him, since she’s said nothing all evening.

“Remy, can I ask you what happened today?”

Remy thrusts her hands down into the pockets of her borrowed robes and for a few seconds, Jack thinks she’s going to shift and ignore him completely.

“It wasn’t today,” she says in a small voice.

“No?” Jack’s fingers tighten in Dali’s fur.

Remy shakes her head. “No. They had me for two days. They tried to get me to shift so they could watch, but I couldn’t do it. It…It felt…dirty.”

Jack leans towards the girl but she pulls back as if he’d burned her. “I only want to help.”

“I know,” she says, dropping her eyes and turning her face away. “I know. I appreciate everything, it’s just when I’m like this…after they…they…” a sob works its way out of her chest and she bites her knuckles. After a moment, she takes a deep breath. “You are so good, Doctor Jack, taking care of everyone. It’s why I was out in the first place. I…I wanted you to see my mother, but now…”

Remy weeps quietly into her hands, the sound breaking Jack’s heart in two.

“What can I do?” he whispers. Dali raises his head then quickly leaps from couch to chair to settle against Remy’s leg. That seems to be okay, so he remains and Jack watches her relax little by little.

Tentatively, Remy brushes her fingertips over Dali’s thick, curly fur. “Mother was in labor, and had been for a couple of days…the midwife said there was trouble, but the doctor from the clinic in town wouldn’t see her!” Remy’s eyes flash, showing her strength. “I had heard about you from the others. My friend is Simma’s cousin, she said you’d treated Bradley when the boy cut his hand. Mother was in so much pain, I had to try something.”

Jack senses the girl reliving her story and forces himself to relax against the cushions. He studies Dali’s amber eyes for a moment, then returns his attention fully to Remy. “Go on,” he croons in an exhale.

“I started out from Reston when the snow began. It was morning and I had already decided to go through the forest to cut down time and to try to get around this group of people that always seems to be hanging about the road between our towns. Have you seen them? Short hair and swords?”

“Yes,” Jack answers, “we don’t know exactly who they are but trouble seems to follow them.”

“I don’t know, really.” Remy seems to lose a bit of her steam. She’s quiet again and she huddles down into the pink robes.

“Goodnight everyone,” Missy calls as she heads towards the bedrooms, “Remy, I’ll make Jack’s bed up for you now. Please wake me if you need anything.” She doesn’t wait for an answer.

“Why would you let me stay here? Kick you out of your own bed?” Remy queries.

Jack is confounded. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Remy shakes her head. “I’m not used to anyone being so kind to people like me.”

Jack regards Dali pointedly.

Remy goes on, “It’s just…things have been pretty bad in Reston. The physician not being willing to see Mother isn’t anything new. But that’s what I was telling you, a pair of _them_ grabbed me.” She closes her eyes and steels herself. “They said some awful things and then one of them said they were going to try and cut the magick off of me if I didn’t change _right now_ …I remember seeing the sword flash and I tried to call out, but there was no one…no one…”

Remy dissolves into tears. Jack instinctively reaches out to comfort her and she recoils, crying all the harder. Dali bumps her leg with his nose until she drops her hand to his head. She continues to cry, making both Dali and Jack feel completely useless. They gaze at each other, feline and human, until Remy drifts into sleep.

Jack carries her through to his bedroom and lays her on the bed in her robes. After hearing her story, he’s not about to even attempt making her comfortable, though he is positive Missy has some sleepwear that would fit her. Instead, touching her the least amount he is able, he pulls his duvet over her and leaves the room, hoping she will not be upset that he wouldn’t let her sleep in the chair.

“I think that’s it, Dali. Let’s head out.” Jack waves both hands, extinguishing all the candles in the house. They leave by the back door so that he remembers to flip the sign telling potential patients that they’ll be open again on the ‘morrow. The darkness that is usually so peaceful in the middle of the night is strained and brittle as the retired soldier follows a black cat towards a run-down flat in the center of Lambden. With everything that’s happened: magickers being targeted, he’s almost one hundred percent certain now, Harry walking out on them, and now this fresh incident of hate in a time of year that is supposed to signify peace…Jack is beginning to feel like a stranger in his hometown that he wasted so much time longing for.


	10. P.1: Chapter Eleven

Jack steps over the threshold of Dali’s flat, makes a good sweep of the place with his eyes then turns to his lover and laughs. Startled, Dali looks around, wondering what he’d forgotten to do before he left yesterday. He starts to apologize that his flat isn’t as put together as Jack’s house, since he really hasn’t paid much attention to furnishings and such until recently-because really, the cat doesn’t need much-when he realizes what it is that Jack is actually looking at.

“So that’s what you’ve been doing with them!” Jack bends forward, hands on knees, and cracks up.

Dali, a bit wary at Jack’s sudden jump into hysterical territory, hovers in the corridor unsurprised that Jack knows about his recent spate of door-to-door begging. He follows Jack’s line of sight to the collection of green, red, and orange plants in their various pots and crocks, a stately queue standing proudly along the walls on either side of the big window from where a faint suggestion of dawn on the horizon winks in at them. Dali instantly understands Jack’s mirth, secretly relieved that the other man isn’t laughing at the scuffed-up wooden floor or the rather tattered carpet, even though both are reasonably clean. In his own head, when Dali compares his place to the Weston’s house, it could be the difference between a manor in the country and a wooden crate on the street.

“My plants,” he says, crossing past Jack to stand between them and open his arms wide. “They were all dead,” the wizard mutters, lovingly brushing leaves and flowers alike with his fingertips, “I healed them the way you taught me, Jack.”

Jack beams, strides over and wraps Dali in his arms, pulling his head down with a hand on his neck. “They are beautiful,” he tells Dali with a smile before kissing him.

Dali moves his head to rest on Jack’s shoulder and they sway together for a few moments, each man feeling the other’s exhaustion.

“We should sleep.” Dali pulls back and tugs on the bottom of the sleeves of Jack’s robes; Jack is almost out cold on his feet and seems barely able to register this fact.

“Indeed,” Jack mutters, toeing off his boots right where he stands.

Dali prods him in the right direction then takes a long look at Jack’s tall boots where they have come to rest beside a glossy red pot with a bright green ivy cascading over the darker red rolled rim; he decides right then and there that he really likes the way the colors contrast and blend there in the hazy light from the dusty window panes. Deep in his throat, he makes a contented sound very similar to a growly purr and moves to join his lover in the bedroom.

Dali leans against the door jamb and watches Jack disrobe until he’s in nothing save for a long cream-colored undershirt and shorts. Glad that he took the time to round up some clean linens and actually make the bed for a change, Dali pauses before stepping closer in order to more fully appreciate the sight in front of him.

“I watched you that night in the cellar,” he blurts out into the coolness of the room, wondering why he’d bring that up after all this time.

Jack pulls his tunic over his head and looks over his shoulder, blue eyes flashing mischievously, “Yeah, you did.”

“You knew?”

“I did,” Jack answers, pulling back the patchwork quilt and starting to climb into the sheets. He hesitates. “Is this okay?”

Dali grins, happy to be back on familiar ground. He cocks his head, “Am I stopping you?”

“Good then, come on,” Jack says as he scoots under the covers. “Join me?”

“Of course.” Dali quickly strips down to nothing and wedges himself between Jack and the wall, where he truly doesn’t fit as well as he would if he simply stretched out on Jack’s other side.

“What’s this?” Jack mutters with fond amusement into Dali’s hair as he curls his arms around his lover’s shoulders.

Dali shrugs, then scooches down so that his head is beneath Jack’s chin and makes a satisfied sound that causes Jack to chuckle in his throat as he places a kiss against the frizzy curls at the top of Dali’s head. Dali hooks his fingers into Jack’s undershirt and rubs his face against the material, the light stubble on his jawline catching slightly against the grain.

“Go on then, purr, big kitty,” Jack sniggers warmly.

“Jack,” Dali says, ignoring the silly joke, “who do you think Remy meant when she said ‘them’ about the people who tried to…what? Tried to kidnap her? Kill her?”

Jack shakes his head; when he speaks the tone is distant, drowsy. “I’m not sure, really.” He really wants nothing more at this juncture than to rest; contemplating would-be kidnappers, murderers, and quite possibly rapists and their non-reasons for what they do is not conducive to sleeping.

They are silent then for a few moments, each man lost a little in his own tangled thoughts.

“I think we should go and check it out,” Dali states with a quiet resolve. Jack’s arms tighten around him.

Too many memories than would be possible to pick apart right now make themselves known to Jack’s consciousness, forcing him to either show his hand against leaving Lambden at all or agree to make the trip to Reston. “It’s not really up to us, Dali…”

Dali moves so that they are face to face. “We’ll take Robert with us.” His amber eyes are fiercely narrowed, determination hand in hand with the offering of an official of sorts, “They need to be stopped.”

Jack relents, but adds a stipulation. “Alright, once the snow is gone, yeah? We’ll go out there, see what is happening and return here to…”

“To what, Jack?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. It sounds like things there are worse than here; maybe it will give us a better idea as to who these Cultists really are and what they want.”

Dali mulls the idea over in his head for a moment. “Fine. I agree. We need time to get a couple of horses and gather supplies anyway, right?”

Jack nods again, yawns and kisses Dali’s soft lips. “Good plan.” Closing his eyes, he begins to drift off as all the tension in his body slowly fades away.

*

In his sleep, the bare skin of his front warmed against Jack’s broad chest and cooled by the wall at his back, Dali’s memories wend their way from the depths of his subconscious, pushing him to entrust Jack with their contents. He isn’t aware of this, though, until he wakes up clawing at the quilt, at Jack’s shirt, even the wall; his breaths are shallow and fast and he is so terrified that for a moment he forgets where he is. The world is spinning around him, tipping on its side and dumping the contents of old memories helter-skelter…shattering the fragile webs of peace between Jack and Dali wrought by their respective intimate sleeping positions.

“No!”

When Dali cries out, Jack loosens his hold, letting his arms drop to his sides and rolling over onto his back, crooning to his lover the way he would to calm a baby or a frightened animal. In this case, he’s trying to calm an obviously terrified shape shifter, so he figures it works about the same way. He goes still, deeply inhales, then again until Dali’s eyes open and he seems to come back to himself. Very carefully, he reaches out and brushes Dali’s cheek with the back of his hand; his skin is warm but there is an odd quality to it, almost as if Jack is looking at his lover through a haze.

“Alright?” he asks, hoping his voice doesn’t betray his own worry that something he’s done caused this reaction. Perhaps he shouldn’t have forced himself into the wizard’s territory; he should have stayed on the couch at home. Jack is doubly concerned that if Dali changes now, in the midst of whatever panic this is, that it will break the trust the two of them have been building for so long.

Pulling away from Jack’s healing touch and busting his own disjointed train of thought, Dali sits up against the wall and folds his legs then curves himself until he is able to rest his face on his knees. Long fingers tremble where they grip his bare shins.

Jack is struck hard in that instant just how _young_ and frightened Dali looks. “Dali?”

Dali shakes his head as another sob escapes him, his outline growing hazy then sharp as he fights against the change.

Jack can see that the young wizard is desperately trying to control his pent-up emotions. In an attempt to offer some measure of privacy, he peers around the room, eyes falling on the few possessions Dali calls his own, all brightly lit by the afternoon sun: a sheaf of paper, two used and one new candle, a wooden plank resting over two backless chairs that serves as a shelf for a couple of spare tunics and another set of robes, these in dark purple. Jack takes in the pile of clothes on the floor: the purple tunic, black breeches and black robes Dali had on earlier today. There is a small pinhole below the rounded collar of the tunic making Jack feel almost embarrassed by his nosiness, somehow this feels more intimate that when the wizard is spread out naked beneath him, calves tight on Jack’s hips…

“She was so beautiful.”

Jack startles out of his contemplation at Dali’s wrecked voice. He pulls his legs up, copying his lover’s position to wait for the next part. When nothing is forthcoming, he very slowly and ever so gently grasps Dali’s wrist, leaving his hand loose so that the young man doesn’t feel as if Jack is trapping him. Jack just wants him to know he’s there without being overbearing as well as offer anything in the way of magic that Dali is willing to accept.

Dali flips his hand so that his fingers curl over the back of Jack’s. He sniffs and regards their hands for a moment before leaning back and catching Jack’s gaze with his own.

“Sankari, she was so lovely.”

“Your father’s first wife?” The abject misery in Dali’s amber eyes shreds Jack’s heart to pieces right then and there, their normal bright color flat and glassy now. He is torn between wanting to grab the wizard and hold onto him forever and knowing that allowing him the space to talk is the best course of action right now.

“Yes, Father’s first wife. I’ve always thought of her as Second Mother,” a ghost of a smile threatens to lighten Dali’s cloudy expression.

“That’s a beautiful sentiment,” Jack says, stretching out to lean against the headboard of Dali’s bed.

Dali plucks at the edge of the quilt with the hand not gripping Jack’s. “I would understand if you don’t want to hear this…”

“What are you talking about? Of course I want to hear it. I haven’t been able to get the image of little-boy Dali out of my head since that night we talked.”

Dali huffs, “I was never really little, you know, I was always tall. Sankari used to tell me it wasn’t so bad, because I would bend in the wind and not break…” Dali stops as a trace of another sob threatens to choke him. He turns his head away.

“What is it?” Jack wonders, squeezing Dali’s hand.

“I want to tell you, Jack. It’s just that…I’ve never told _anyone._ ”

Jack really has no idea what to say to that, so he doesn’t speak at all. He closes his eyes and relaxes, allowing his calm energy to permeate the atmosphere around them. One of the old candles on the makeshift desk suddenly lights, adding an odd dancing shadow among those cast by the sunlight over the walls.

Dali studies the flame for a time before he continues: “For many years, I believed it was my fault that she died, both of them, really. I was supposed to have been home two hours before I finally arrived, I’d been off daydreaming with Peter and our friend, Lila. We waded through a stream and I was stinking filthy and covered with mud from head to the toe of my new boots when I got home, but I was so happy that I felt my feet weren’t touching the ground. There was nothing as important right then as what had happened that day.

Father met me at the door. I was eleven years old and I should have known better. I should have stopped and made some attempt at cleaning off my boots, at least. But I was so happy, so joyously overcome that afternoon because not only had Lila kissed me on the cheek before she and Peter left me at the end of our lane, but Peter had kissed me on the lips. It was such an amazing feeling to know that someone outside of Mother and Sankari loved me!”

With his free hand, Dali swipes angrily at the tears on his face as if there is some weakness in acknowledging them, never letting go of Jack’s with the other. Jack scoots closer to so that they are both sitting in the same position and doesn’t say a word. He silently conjures up a hankie and presses it into his hand, letting the cloth touch Dali’s palm so that it is there if he needs it. Dali isn’t leaning so much against the wall now as he is towards Jack, so much so that their shoulders are almost touching. To Jack, this is a good thing, because the younger man seems more grounded now; hopefully less likely to shift away from the conversation and Jack altogether.

“So, I was late.” Dali clears his throat, “I knew full well that we had some silly _thing_ of Father’s to do, Mum and Sankari were already in the carriage, wearing their formal dresses. When they first saw me, they laughed. The horses in the traces were black and shiny, their coats matched Sankari’s hair, glossy in a knot on the top of her head. I can still see it there, tied with something silver. It was like looking at the stars on a moonless night. Mother’s brown hair was in a similar style, they both had flowers from the garden, tiny white flowers, decorating their heads like crowns. I’ll never forget their happiness…their joy as they smiled down at me. Mother moved closer to Sankari in order to give me room to sit next to her; as I started to step up into the carriage, I looked down at myself and the day came to me in a rush, broken only by the sound of a door slamming open.”

Dali’s expression is tense, his eyes fixed on a point beyond which Jack cannot see. Absently, he presses the hankie beneath his nose, clears his throat again and starts anew, gesturing with the cloth as if making a point.

“When Father stepped out the door, the laughing stopped. He stood over me, face red and it is so strange, I remember the flecks of spittle on the sides of his mouth, his big, loud mouth, as he screamed at me about being an embarrassment to the family name. I remember that there was something in his tirade about shirking family ‘duties’ to play like a child.

…And I looked right into his face and I said ‘I am a child.’ Nothing he could say right then mattered to me anymore because I had friends, I had love…

I never saw him draw back his arm but the next time I looked up, I was flat on my back on the ground in front of the carriage horses. They were whickering and shying and I could hear Mother’s voice…even though it blended so well with Sankari’s…and they were shouting, everyone was shouting and I touched my lip and there was blood and I saw his boot, then, coming towards me…

But it never made contact. Sankari jumped up on his back from behind—did I ever tell you he was a big man? I never knew she was that strong—she had hold of his neck, her long, beautiful nails, I remember that her thumbnail was broken against his neck it was painted midnight blue…and then the world stopped. There was no more sounds because the flash of a blade in her hand, dappled sunlight from our trees bouncing off the blade—I remember being so amazed that this kind, loving woman had something like that on her person and then it dawned on me that I needed to get out of the way because she was going to protect me…”

Dali stops, his gaze turned inward on his memory, his breathing harsh and ragged. Jack watches him closely, almost afraid to find out that he has already correctly guessed how the story ends.

“There was blood. It spurted like a fountain past the handle from the side of his neck when the blade found its mark. Somehow, some way, he turned and then he had her by throat and he was choking the life out of her as his was gushing out of him. He was so much stronger than she was and I could see the handle of her knife bouncing as the muscles in his neck tightened and released. He was too murderous at that point to see beyond his vengeance and jealousy over the person who’d stolen Mother’s heart away from him…not that I could ever blame her…

It was all over so fast. I stared at the two bodies from where I lay on my back on the ground. Then Mother’s arms were around me and she was crying so hard. I felt myself break into a million pieces…the next time I looked at her, I was looking through someone else’s eyes and I felt nothing as the men carried away the bodies. Mother’s dress, her beautiful sky blue dress, the bottom hem had soaked up so much blood…it was…it was terrible…”

Dali is fully leaning against Jack now, his face against the side of Jack’s neck. Fresh tears fall silently, as if he is too exhausted to make a sound. Jack holds him close, murmurs velvet nothings as if he could build a set of armor out of them in order to protect Dali from these wretched memories.

“What happened to your mother, Dali?” Jack wonders as he runs his fingers through the sweaty curls at the back of Dali’s neck. He leans down and kisses his temple.

“They sent her away. I ran from them when they tried to take me; there was nowhere for me to be. After six months or so, they stopped trying to make me leave my home, I was never there when they came. I searched but could never find out where she’d been taken. For my twelfth birthday, I received an official letter stating that I was emancipated, which to me meant I was free to live my life as I saw fit. At the end of the same sentence was a short phrase meant to console and inform me of my mother’s death six months earlier. I will always believe that she died of a broken heart.”

“My God, Dali.” Jack can’t even begin to imagine being on his own at such a young age; granted he and Harry butted heads when they were kids, but he could not imagine his father ever raising a hand to either of them. “I can’t even…” he lets his words run out because, really, what can he say?

“I needed you to know,” Dali says against Jack’s neck, the air from his words cooling the moisture from Dali’s tears.

“Thank you,” Jack states, drawing Dali upward in order to see into his face. “Stay with me.”

“Yes.” Dali’s voice is hoarse, the sound less broken now, “I think this is why it took so long for me to get my magic.”

“That is possible,” Jack answers, tipping Dali’s chin towards him as he drops the wet hankie off the side of the bed and promptly forgets about it.

Dali tastes of salt, his lips are swollen and his heart is racing when Jack places his palm on the young wizard’s bare chest as he returns Jack’s kiss. His hands fall to Jack’s hips and between the two of them pulling and pressing, they wind up on the mattress, Jack on his back and Dali kneeling above him. Their kissing is passionate, yet neither pushes for more.

Desire builds slowly, a diaphanous joy to erase irreparable sadness, a strong foundation for an uncertain future slowly erected in two hearts beating as one. Finally, spent and utterly exhausted, Jack curls his body around Dali’s and cages him in his arms. Dali’s bedroom is peaceful again, the atmosphere cool and crisp in the way an autumn rain shower cleans the air of the city.

*

Missy is checking out a customer’s purchases at the counter in the shop when Justin practically throws open the door and props himself against the wall next to it, panting. Missy takes in his stricken expression, thanks her customer and waits until the woman steps out of the shop after tucking away her package and pushing the hood of her brown robes over her red hair.

“What is it?” she asks, moving around the counter to stop in front of Justin.

Justin leans forward, resting a hand on Missy’s shoulder, his voice barely disguising his shock. “I just saw someone kill Harry.”

“Oh my God!” Missy exclaims. She looks around the shop for a moment and steels herself. “Do you know where Dali’s flat is? That’s where Jack said he was going this morning.” Part of her is relieved that nothing has happened to Jack, while another part rails against the idea that she thinks so little of her big sister.

Justin contemplates about it for a few seconds. He scans her face as if afraid she’s going to fall to pieces right in front of him. “I don’t, but the dog can follow a scent,” his expression relaxes a fraction as he is able to get his mind off the scene he witnessed half an hour ago.

“Could you go to him, bring him back here? And Dali, too. Please, Justin?” Missy stands still, hands down at her sides, eyeing the shop as if she’s never seen it before.

“I’m sorry, Missy.” Justin states, green eyes glazed with unshed tears for her.

Missy shakes her head, trying hard for a stiff upper lip. “No, no need for you to be sorry. Unfortunately, my sister made her bed some time ago, now she’s sleeping in it.” Missy lets out a tetchy, strangled laugh then bursts into tears.

Justin holds her against him until she pulls away. He can see the very instant she decides that she needs to be strong. “I’ll be back with them soon.”

“I will make us all tea,” Missy tells him in a hollow voice so unlike her usual warm tone.

Justin frowns but realizes he’s losing time, so he hugs her again and drops to the floor. In an instant, the yellow dog spins on a dime and runs back out the way he came in, his nose to the ground.

Still in shock, but fighting it, Missy wanders into the kitchen and sits on the table. Making tea is quick, almost instinctual and in no time at all, she has a hot kettle and warm biscuits waiting for what’s left of her family to return home. She picks at invisible lint on her mint green robes, the thoughts in her mind chaotic and emotionally switching between shock, grief and fury. She gnaws at her bottom lip as the tea things settle themselves on the table, then stands and begins pacing the kitchen, her boot soles scuffing slightly against the wooden floor.


	11. P.1: Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, just wanted to let you all know this is not abandoned, it is what I am currently working on for NaNo. This is a sample of what is happening in the world of Dali and Jack. The raw doc needs to be edited and actually broken down into chapters. I will get there! (Hopefully this won't be too hard to read due to that :)

In the seemingly empty stretch of time after Justin leaves the house a heavy mantle of bone-deep weariness settles on Missy’s shoulders. Part of her wishes Remy hadn’t got up and left after breakfast because even someone so quiet would be better company than candles and a tea service. She sighs, wiping at the annoying salt tracks left behind by tears drying on her cheeks.

“I am so sick and tired of crying over Harry!” Missy shouts to the rafters from the middle of the kitchen. Naturally, there is no answer other than silence forthcoming from the depths of the house and that’s just as irritating as someone arguing with her, so she starts pacing again. Her thoughts darken and wind about her mind, threatening to strangle any bright spots that might still remain in her memories of her sister in the wake of Harry’s death.

She stands with her back to the sink in imitation of Harry’s favorite pose, looking around the room and trying to force herself to remember the good things. Her eyes fall on the single board put across the top of the big window where Harry liked to collect funny little things: a bright green glass bottle, a speckled egg from the woods, and once even an odd scrap of a pretty printed material she’d planned on making a tunic out of…Missy shakes her head, crossing her arms over chest. Harry always had such big dreams, only they never really went anywhere and that’s probably what drove her to joining up with a ‘cause’ regardless of how much that cause hurts the people she loves…well, _loved_ , anyway, and Missy can’t even be sure of that anymore.

Granted, their lives, Harry’s and Missy’s, were never exceedingly easy after they lost their parents and Jack decided to enlist, but they were never so difficult that they were starving. At least with the shop being owned by their family, there was never a chance that they would be homeless—as much as Missy feared it sometimes.

The only thing that really scares her now, though, is the way it seems as if everyone is taking sides—almost as if the magickers are being forced apart from their more ‘normal’ brethren. Missy hugs herself tighter and watches a small bluebird flit back and forth outside the window, only partially seeing a bright day quickly fading into twilight.

None of this is right! As far as she is aware, in her lifetime, there’s hardly been a human being born that doesn’t have some sort of magical ability! Granted, most don’t have the skill of Dali—that man seems able to absorb spells like he’s some kind of occult genius sponge—or even the ability to shift as does Justin, also exception due to his dual ability of having both a dog and a ferret alter—but still, some latent ability is still there.

Some, like Jack, don’t come into their powers until well after puberty; Missy is aware that most people discover theirs much sooner. She takes a deep breath and then another because it seems as if her despair is subsiding a bit; she knows she will be grieving, but she will be grieving for her sister as they were when they were much younger, and not the half-possessed young woman spitting out invectives and virtually cursing her entire life and everyone in it.

For the first time in her twenty-eight years, Missy is at a loss what to do with herself. Her heart is both full and empty at the same time—full because of Justin, but empty because of her sister. She contemplates the window a little longer, then the floor, then looks up and realizes that the light in the kitchen is growing dim.

Missy snaps her fingers in order to call her candles into the room. Her eyes well up again when one of them floats into the kitchen with a blue flame.

“Damn you, Harry,” she mutters between clenched teeth as she sets herself to lighting the others so that when the boys get back they won’t be walking into a dark house. In some ways, this ending is also a beginning, she thinks, her concern switching now to Justin, Dali, and Jack because who really knew how much The Cultists were leaving them alone simply because Harry had joined them?

“Oh my god,” Missy’s breath catches on an inhale. Until this moment, she’d been so busy being angry at her sister for walking away from them that she never considered that there may have been some other purpose behind her actions. Fighting back the tears again, she slides down the front of the sink to sit on the floor, the mismatched emotions of guilt at not realizing sooner and relief that maybe her sister didn’t hate them the way she believed holding her there as if pinned to the floor. The weight of it threatens to shake her to the very foundations of her small world.

 

 

Finally, the three men arrive back at the house and Jack opens the back door, stepping over the threshold first. Missy pushes herself off the floor as Jack holds his arms open wide. She takes three steps towards him then falls into his embrace, realizing that her tears aren’t as dried up as she believed them to be. They are silent for a few moments, when they pull apart, they drop down into their respective chairs opposite the table from each other since breakfast hours ago. She wants to tell her brother every thought that’s run through her mind whilst waiting on him, yet the stoic silence of all three of them keep her from saying a word.

Justin and Dali fiddle with their tea, though Dali makes Jack’s and hands it to him. Justin seems nervous, unsure of himself or the situation, alternately looking down at his hands curved around the mug, staring out the window or casting adoring glances in Missy’s direction.

Jack doesn’t miss any of these tense little tells.

“Justin, we’re practically family now. You are welcome. Stop looking like you’re going to shift and slink out of here as fast as you can,” Jack says over the rim of his mug.

Justin’s ears redden, he drops his eyes to his cup but then takes a deep breath and relaxes against the back of his chair. Jack’s words certainly speak for more than the current situation; Justin is glad that it sounds as if he accepts that he and Missy have recently become more than friends. Absently, unconsciously copying Missy’s thoughts when she was alone, he wonders exactly how much Jack knows.

“Thank you,” Justin states honestly.

Jack nods, Dali’s inquisitive gaze skates over his face and a ghost of a smile turns up the corners of Missy’s mouth.

The conversation turns to idle things for a little while until Jack decides they’ve ignored the situation long enough. “What did you see today?” he asks, regarding Justin levelly while Missy goes as still as a marble statue beside him. He hates to do this to her, but they need answers and this is the only way they are going to get them.

Justin runs his fingers through his wheat-and-ash colored hair, loosening the tight curls in a way that he knows gives his heart-shaped face an impish look; at least according to what his mother used to tell him. Though it is similar overall, he wears his hair shorter than Dali generally keeps his, but he’s been so busy with the Westons that he hasn’t taken the time to have it trimmed properly. He sighs and meets Missy’s eyes over the table, lets them fall to where she’s holding hands with her brother then stretches his legs and looks out the window again. Another day gone, evening fast approaching on its heels.

“Go on, Justin, please?” Missy steels herself for the information she only half wants to hear. She picks at the lace on the cream-colored tablecloth.

“Are you okay?” Justin regards Missy carefully, ignoring the other two men for the moment. When she nods to the affirmative, he scratches at the peach fuzz on his chin that is slowly filling in enough to be called a tiny beard. “I was down at the market when I noticed there was this…it wasn’t really a fight, not like what we’ve been seeing around here, how about altercation? There was this altercation, but it was between some members of that group of brown-coats.”

As he’s never thought of himself as much of a public speaker, he pauses, taking stock of his words, preferring to ease into it rather than blurt out the story in an insensitive manner. “Anyway, that’s what the people down at the market are calling the same group you guys have named ‘Cultists.’”

Dali nods his agreement while Jack munches on a biscuit. Missy says nothing, her hands now in her lap and her eyes on Justin’s face as if she could reach into his mind and simply pluck the story out and replay it for herself. Justin frowns at her in concern and when she nods, he continues.

“Well, anyway, overtop the stall with the fruit and the guy next to him, the one with the fish, the three of us could hear loud voices. When I say the three of us, I mean the fish monger, an elderly lady wearing brown robes who had her hood pulled up, I never did see her face, but I could see her grey hair…but never mind that now, plus me. The voices got louder and it sounded like it was two on one.

The whole lot of them were comin’ up the street towards the market, and it left no doubt as to who was doing the shoutin’. A man and a woman were dressing down another woman, whose face I couldn’t see because she was walking backwards, somehow facing them but running away at the same time…”

He’s interrupted by Missy’s loud inhale. Biting her lip and shaking her head, she gestures at him to go on.

Jack knows that trick all too well. If there was any doubt that it had been their sister, the walking-backwards-and-arguing-with-you thing is the clincher. Jack reaches out to his youngest sister, grasping her shoulder and making her look at him. He knows she’s tough, but he cannot quell his instinct to protect her, even now that the danger has come and gone.

“Apparently, you recognize that.” When no one answers, Justin finishes his story. “Anyway, the man and woman are letting her have it. I couldn’t really hear exactly what they were saying because the whole group seemed to be shouting abuse, and I didn’t feel comfortable shifting in the market with all the stuff that’s been happening, so I watched them. I was just starting to read the lips of the shouty woman, but right then the man whips out his sword and makes a crazy slash in the air. The whole bunch of ‘em just stopped moving.” Justin snaps his fingers. “Like that. For a few seconds no one moved, the old lady next to me didn’t even _breathe_. Then there was this horrid noise and the woman standing facing the man with the sword grabbed at her throat and fell.

Then the first woman shouted something at the man. They turned towards us and the man pointed in our direction. At that point, I wasn’t thinking about anything except that sword so I shifted right there, but I dropped to my knees first, and I don’t know if anyone noticed, and I really don’t even care…but I ran past the woman on the ground and I recognized Harry…and I’m sorry, I didn’t close her eyes, but I needed to get word to you and I wasn’t sure what else to do.”

“You did fine. Just fine.” Missy manages before biting her lip to stop a sob. Even without being present, she can picture the scene in her head all too clearly; it’s not like Harry never brawled or had fist fights before, but this, this final act where she seemed outmatched…is just _wrong_ , even with all the grief she caused them before this.

Justin pushes his chair back, moves around to where Missy sits between Dali and Jack and wraps her in his arms. She leans against him and weeps.

For his part, Jack is numb. He regards his sister and her beau as if watching it through a pair of glasses that belong to someone else, seeing a picture that is clear in the center but hazy around the edges. Under the table, Dali’s hand grips his knee; though he has been struck numb by the coldness of his eldest sister’s murder—and such a cold-blooded one at that—he is touched by the gesture nonetheless, so he offers his lover a slight smile of gratitude.


	12. P.1: Chapter Thirteen

Yuletide sneaks in silently on gentle paw pads through drifting snow. The dawn finds Missy curled up on the end of the sofa, wrapped in one of her dusky pink robes, feet tucked up beneath it and a cup of tea in her hand. She has nothing but the fire lit, no candles this morning except for the ones on the tree in the corner; the sitting room is bathed in a peachy-gold light cast off from the waking sun and the wee candles among the branches of the blue tree.

Missy stares into the top of her tea cup, idly watching the foamy swirls of the sugar as the wind about each time she raises it to her lips. Small sounds of breathing come from the direction of the bedrooms: Remy, as the stoat, curled up in a ball on Harry’s old bed, a grunty snore from the direction of Jack’s room, answered by the irritated huff of Dali being jostled as Jack rolls over, and the quiet noise of Justin burrowed into Missy’s sheets.

The thought of Justin in her bed warms her heart and brings a blush to her cheeks, even though no one is there to pay her any mind. She hums the first few bars of a jaunty little tune under her breath as her eyes fall on the tree. Something about the winking flames amidst the sapphire color of the boughs makes her think of her sister and she wonders idly if Harry could have possibly got on with Justin or even Remy. It is quite possible that she would not have given either of them a chance, based on the way she treated Dali the few times they were in the same room together.

Missy shakes her head, no, most likely not. She has to admit to herself that she’s never understood her sister’s disappointment with everything in life. Though they were never uber-wealthy, they were never dirt poor, either. Even now, she finds that her largest concern is that Harry’s spirit is not at peace, since they were unable to retrieve her body and send her off in the traditional manner; of course, Harry would certainly complain had she known that, would probably complain that the flames weren’t high enough or there weren’t enough mourners at her funeral.

Still, Missy considers, there are spells to help the spirits of the dead find peace even in circumstances such as this; as much as Jack dislikes speaking of his time overseas, perhaps if she filters such a request in the right manner, asking only about peace for restless spirits—not necessarily spirits of those killed in a violent manner, though of course Harry certainly was—maybe he’ll have an answer for her.

“No more of this,” Missy says to the room at large, snapping her fingers and producing a great silver tureen of eggnog that makes its merry way to the side table and lands with a slight skid and a thump. She stands, then, and heads towards the kitchen, deftly conjuring up some pots and pans in order to cook a real, old-fashioned Yuletide breakfast. In the cupboard, she’s hidden a slab of bacon, a dozen eggs and a loaf of cinnamon bread—all trades from customers over the past few days. Missy sets herself to her task happily, glad to be able to provide this type of comfort for her rapidly- growing family; making a conscious choice to stop being so maudlin and enjoy the good things around her.

When Justin pads through the kitchen barefoot then wraps his arms around her, the tiny flicker of guilt she’s been feeling at her own contentment is extinguished and she accepts that she has someone to help share her burdens with now. By the time the others are drawn in towards the smell of an actual home-cooked meal, Missy is smiling; her joy is infective and they celebrate the peaceful holiday basking in one another’s company.

 

Weeks pass by. Jack gains patients via the back door; Missy loses customers via the front. Justin and Dali scout throughout the city, ears and eyes keen for any bit of information that clues them in to whatever disaster is headed their way. Winter continues, wet, cold, grey and drizzly. Whispers trickle in from everywhere about violence done towards magickers; there’s always a looming figure on the horizon that no one seems able to see properly.

Robert Greyson is promoted to ‘Deputy Peace Officer.’ He comes by the house early one evening and is settled at the kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee and Jack, talking about his new appointment when Dali, Justin, and Remy gambol into the house as their alternate selves. Dali ignores everyone else save for Jack, leaping up easily from the floor to his lap. Absently, Jack strokes the cat’s head.

“How are you, lad?” Robert asks, directly to Dali. The cat doesn’t answer but watches his old friend with new interest.

Justin, as the curly-coated dog, sits down and Jack’s feet and stares up at Robert with his sometimes-unsettling blue eyes. Robert glances at the dog once, then his eyes go wide with surprise. Jack grins.

Remy, for her part, has gone stock still at the edge of the kitchen, as if the small room is a vast river she’s hoping will part for her. Missy, upon exiting the shop where she’d gone in order to gather a small pouch of herbs for Robert, gently chides the white stoat then stoops to pick her up.

“That one, too?” Robert raises his brows in Remy’s direction.

The stoat squeaks in Missy’s arms and turns around so that her face is tucked beneath Missy’s chin.

“She’s a bit shy,” Missy offers by way of explanation.

“Good gods, you Westons are running a menagerie!” Robert guffaws.

Jack smiles, too. “I’m not even sure how it happened, really. I asked myself how it’s possible that talented people like this are so rare, yet here’s three of them,” Jack gestures between Dali, Justin and Remy.

Robert shakes his head in wonder. “It’s great you’ve all found each other. I’m not going to even ask any questions or even ask you your names,” Robert says, acknowledging the stoat and the dog with a head tilt in their directions, “but I did come here to talk to Jack and Dali, so if you two want to keep your secrets, would you mind?”

Missy answers for them, “that’s fine, Officer Greyson, we’ll all just slip into the sitting room.” She carries Remy, and Justin follows on her heels.

“What was that about?” Jack queries as Dali jumps down off his lap, takes two steps away from the table and slips back into himself. He shakes his arms then gracefully adjusts his black robes before sliding behind Jack and taking the seat next to him.

Dali takes in Jack’s skeptical expression and looks towards Robert. “Are you regretting your association with magickers, suddenly?”

“No! What? No, are you kidding?” Robert raises his hands above the table, palm outward. “Gods, no. Not at all. What would make you think such a thing? Dali, if I was going to sell you down the river, don’t you think I would’ve done that ages ago? If nothing else, I owe my current position to you, you realize that, right?”

Dali regards him silently, finally nodding in agreement.

“How’s that?” Jack asks, curious.

Before Dali can answer, Robert enlightens Jack. “I’m not entirely sure how he always got the information, but I think skulking about town in the dark as a black cat gave him access to things the rest of us don’t normally hear. Am I correct?”

Dali nods.

“I don’t know if you know this or not, Jack, but some of this trouble was already brewing for a portion of the magical population of Lambden before you got home. There were several assaults, robberies and at least one death that were officially labeled as ‘unsolved’ but there were already reports coming out of other parts of the world of a group of people determined to ‘take humanity back to where it belongs’ for whatever that means.” Robert informs them as he folds his hands together on the tabletop.

Jack regards him for a moment. “Aye, I have a feeling I knew that already. I saw things…things overseas that had absolutely nothing to do with a land war. I was sent home due to an injury that was caused by a spell neither myself nor anyone on my team could break.”

Dali is watching Jack with great intent now, hoping that some of the questions he’s had about Jack’s time as a soldier may finally be answered. He’s so focused on Jack that he almost forgets Robert’s presence.

Jack cuts his eyes towards Dali, notes the burning, hawk-like gaze then returns his attention to Robert. In retrospect, there’s some things that he never wanted to tell anyone, let alone Dali, but it’s probably better if the young wizard hears it directly from his mouth instead of via the grapevine. He studies his hands for a moment then exhales; besides, it’s been long enough, the least he can do is be honest. Jack steels himself against the thought that perhaps what he’s got to reveal will push his lover away from him, maybe for good.

“Dali will remember, as I’m sure you will, too, the night Anthony Preston was brought to us and died here?”

Dali and Robert both nod.

“Well,” he exhales slowly as long-buried memories begin their assault on his mind, “I recognized the type of some of his wounds because I have made use of some of those same spells.”

Robert frowns, trying to remember. Mostly, he can see a man lying on a tabletop, one eye swollen shut with a gash down the side of his face. He had been called to the house in order to arrest the young man accused on injuring Jack’s patient. It had turned out that the boy hadn’t done the crime—well not all of it anyway—but the majority of the worst injuries had been committed by the boy’s father who would probably remain behind bars the rest of his natural life.

Dali, for his part, remembers all too well the horrendous slashes and ripped skin that marred the man’s torso; he can recall with utter clarity the smell of blood and the awful, rattling sound of the ex-soldier taking his last breath, and before that, the immense pain the man had been in, so much so that he was barely conscious from the time he was brought into the house.

The idea that _Jack_ of all people, the usually so calm and gentle man with the inborn powers to _heal_ …the idea that he could have caused injuries like that to someone else is…Dali regards Jack for a moment; Jack looks right back at him, his expression open and seemingly waiting for some form of judgment to be passed.

“No.” Dali speaks into the tense, waiting silence between the three men. “You were a soldier. You say you used spells like this on other people?”

Jack tilts his head once, eyes never leaving Dali’s face.

“Did you use these spells on anyone who wouldn’t have done the same to you first?”

Jack shakes his head side to side very slowly and some of the tension leaves his face. The young wizard understands.

“That was war,” Dali states, sounding more like he’s making up his own mind about something than he is talking to either Jack or Robert now. He presses his index finger to the flat, smooth surface of the table. “And this is, too. It has been longer in coming on, perhaps, but I have no place to judge you. Not then, and not now.”

Jack has to fight the tears threatening to well up in his eyes; his throat is dry. That there is something strong between them, he’s never had any doubt, but this absolute proof of acceptance is something Jack has never experienced…even his sisters have no real idea of what happens every day during the helter-skelter battles on the fields so far from home.

Robert clears his throat as the tension in the room changes tack drastically. Instead of the temperature of the atmosphere in the kitchen falling, it is warming up quite exponentially.

“I do believe I’ll make this quick, then,” Robert announces to the room at large. Dali and Jack quickly pull their gazes away from one another. The Peace Officer finds himself quite amused on the blush on the shape-shifter’s cheeks; when Jack turns his attention to the Peace Officer, the sense of amusement fades into something he cannot name.

Jack’s expression, indeed his entire posture, is softer, as if a heavy weight has been lifted off of him. Robert isn’t sure whether to be glad to have been part of that or not.

“I wanted to warn you that the brown coats, or outside militia, or Cultists, or whatever you guys are calling them—well, they are actively hunting magickers now and they aren’t trying to hide it.”

 

After Robert’s pronouncement, Jack is rather jittery the rest of the evening. He cannot put his finger on the exact reason, but something about Robert’s warning isn’t sitting right in his guts. It seems like there should be _more_ to it, but he’s damned if he knows what it’s supposed to be. He stretches out in his bed after stripping off of his robes, thinking that it might be a good night for a nice, leisurely bath.

Absently, he pushes his bed towards the wall and slowly recalls the big metal tub Missy keeps around for when people want to fully immerse themselves in bathing. He frowns at the thing a little when it seems to shimmer around the edges, but it finally settles into solidity so he conjures up some hot water, of course, without that smushy pink bubbly soap stuff Missy loves so much. Without further ado, he climbs into the tub and stretches out.

As if he’s the north end of a Jack-shaped magnet, Dali the cat slips into the bedroom through the window Jack purposely left partway open.

“Evening,” Jack calls out. His eyes are closed, expression relaxed. He doesn’t need to see in order the hear the heavy, motor running-like purr of the black cat as he pads across the floor on his broad paws. Jack marks the odd swishing sound of a wizard slipping back into his human self then there is a little splash and when he opens his eyes, he’s no longer alone in the big tub.

Dali’s eyes are a burning amber fire. A faint breeze from the open window wafts through the room, gently lifting the longish curly fringe over his eyes. All Jack can think about is how delectable his lover looks in this moment with that look on his face, the faint blush on his cheeks from being outside in the cold and the red of his plush lips as his body temperature warms up with the heat of the water.

“Jack…” Dali begins, but he’s forced to leave his words as Jack scoots close enough to kiss him.

Jack takes Dali’s chin in his hand, tipping his head to just the right angle then leans in and covers the young wizard’s mouth with his own. He knows his lover wants to discuss where he’s been all evening, what he’s seen, and the intel he’s gathered, but right now, in this moment, Jack wants nothing more than to push the outside world away from them.

“Shhh,” he whispers against the heat of Dali’s mouth, “It’ll keep.”

Dali nods, quite unable to speak because Jack’s other hand is gripping the back of his neck, encouraging him to move forward until there isn’t a hairsbreadth left between them. Dali moans so lowly that Jack would have missed it if he could not feel the vibration of the sound against his tongue. He pours himself into his lover’s mouth, taking fully what is given.

In return, Dali plunders Jack’s mouth, pushing so hard against him that Jack is surprised to find himself backed up against the side of the tub with Dali on his knees, his strong arms caging him, his hips undulating forward and every single nerve, synapse and neuron in Jack’s body is on fire.

Neither man can get close enough to the other. In some telepathic manner they decide together to stand up and manage to get to Jack’s bed without hurting anything. Before they hit the mattress Jack turns them so that he is crouched over Dali’s long, lean body, fully intent on marking his neck with his teeth. Dali isn’t complaining, he’s got his blunt fingernails dug into Jack’s shoulders; when he growls, Jack answers him with a sharper nip and Dali laughs as loud as he dares.

It’s not really retaliation when Jack moves down Dali’s torso, nipping as he goes, because when he hits the ticklish spot beneath his ribs, Dali actually giggles and bucks upwards, searching for more friction. Jack sits up so that he’s balanced on his own thighs and grins down at his lover.

Dali smiles back at him, eyes wide, pupils huge, face flushed, a slight sheen of sweat dampening the tips of his curls.

Jack _wants_.

Then Dali raises his legs and rests them against Jack’s hips in a move that drives Jack absolutely insane.

“Tell me,” Jack grits out as he lowers himself back to Dali’s mouth but this time his kisses are petal soft, chaste, every touch infused with those words that are so difficult for him to say. He is nothing if not a patient man.

“Yes, Jack. Yes, to anything. Yes.” Dali whispers, closing his eyes, arching his back and throwing his head back.

Jack almost loses control right then and there. Carefully restraining himself, he thinks about the practicality of the act for a few moments and regretfully pulls off the delightful body now spread out beneath him. He crosses to the wardrobe, closing the window on his way. It takes a few seconds to search for the little glass vial of lubricant that he keeps there and no time at all before he is kneeling between Dali’s thighs.

Arousal is almost clouding his mind, slowing down his movements, yet he finally feels his lover’s body is prepared enough for him and when he slowly pushes into the awaiting slick, velvet heat the emotions he tries to always hold back breaks the metaphysical dam; Dali’s unchanging, frankly adoring expression slams into the depths of Jack’s heart with the first thrust into his body and right there, Jack knows he’s right on the edge.

Dali almost weeps at the sensations coursing through him; it isn’t pain in the true sense of the word, but the way that Jack is looking at him, as if he’s something valuable, something worth holding on to that urges him to keep his eyes locked with the sapphire orbs searing into his soul. Nothing in the twenty-one and one half years the shape-shifter has been alive has ever come close to matching the myriad of sensations of Jack’s arms trapping him in place, Jack’s hips thrusting into him, and the track of a single tear that slowly courses down Jack’s cheek, catching what little light comes in through the window.

In the moment before Jack grasps Dali’s own throbbing member and strokes him gently, lovingly to completion; in those few seconds before Jack’s own climax crashes over him and the weight of the emotion between them—right then, Dali sees directly into Jack’s heart and understands the place there that has been carved out for him alone.


	13. P.1: Chapter Fourteen

None of them discuss it much, but they all take Robert’s warning very seriously. As Jack and Dali work diligently through the last few weeks of winter and into the first of spring gathering supplies for their journey to Reston to accompany Remy home, the teenager nervously hangs about.

A mild day finds Remy watching as the two men, along with Justin’s brawn and Missy’s skill in conjuring, raise a small lean-to in order to house the horses they purchased that day. Remy especially likes the graceful grey mare that Dali seems to favor for her smooth, ground-covering gait, while Jack has chosen a broad-chested, rangy bay gelding for his mount.

Remy is as homesick as she’s ever been in her fourteen year and worried about her mother, though the scant few messages she’s received via her mother’s carrier pigeons have done much in the way of assuaging her fears. Apparently, her mother was able to get into contact with a physician who had no compunctions about seeing a magicker so all seems well on that front.

Truly, if she wanted to, Remy could head home on her own; she is, however, afraid to travel by herself. The fact that she was caught once, even as the stoat, is enough to stop her from even attempting the three-day journey alone again. It still bothers her that some faceless stranger was able to detect her magick, regardless of all the precautions she has been taught to conceal it.

Of course, those spells do absolutely no good if one doesn’t even apply them before striking out into an overcast, snowy evening alone, without telling anyone where she was headed or even that she’d left the house.

To her credit, though, thinks Remy as she takes in the Weston siblings and their chosen mates all working in unison to complete the task in front of them, she never had any real reason to believe she’d even need those spells. Not really.

The white stoat uncurls from her place on the sun-warmed step that leads to the back door of the house. Her strong senses pick up the smells of horses, hay and every individual working in the tiny yard. There’s no grass here to speak of even in summer, but they all seem to have done well bringing in hay for however long they are going to remain in Lambden. Though it is selfish, she secretly hopes that it won’t be too much longer before she is back with her mother.

Remy stretches and yawns, letting her black-tipped paws hang over the edge of the step. Missy murmurs to her as she leans over to pick her up as she comes back to the house, today’s tangerine robes pushed up her arms in order to keep her hands free for the spell casting she’s been doing all morning. Remy rests her head along Missy’s shoulder and lets her mind wander until she realizes that Missy is speaking to her. Remy pulls back a little so that she looks up into Missy’s face.

“Feel like helping with lunch?” Remy is sure Missy is asking. The stoat nods her head and Missy lets her down to the floor. She rapidly changes into her human self and offers Missy a shy smile of gratitude; Remy feels as if she owes Missy so many things, especially her thanks for never pushing her to talk when she doesn’t have much to say.

“Thank you,” Missy says with a smile at the girl; together they begin calling in supplies to lay out for lunch. Remy’s spells are certainly not as strong as Missy’s, so she busies herself with actually putting the sandwiches together and setting the table.

 

Later that afternoon, after enjoying a good meal and listening to the ebb and flow of the conversation all around her, Remy decides that she needs to get out and do a little exploring.

“Missy, I’m going out for a while,” she says standing on the threshold of the back door.

Missy turns away from the account books she has spread all over the kitchen table and smiles. “Sounds like a great idea, maybe I’ll join you later after getting through this? Justin’s helping his dad out tonight, would you like to meet at the pub?”

Remy considers the invitation and decides some company might be the thing. She hesitates, though.

“Oh no, I know you can’t drink anything hard, but I’d like to have some company myself. We can share a basket of chips and I’ll buy you a pint of cider. How’s that sound?”

Remy smiles despite herself, “That does sound lovely, see you there.” It will do her some good to do some socializing, perhaps even tamper down the homesickness.

Missy nods at the girl’s soft tone and turns back to her books as the white stoat claws the back door the rest of the way open and disappears with barely a sound.

 

Missy enters the pub and instantly her eyes are drawn to Justin, who smiles at her from behind the bar where he’s pulling drinks. Remy is at the far end with a basket of chips so greasy that the glow from the electric lights on the ceiling actually sparkles off of them. Missy grins at her friend and slides onto the stool next to her.

Remy’s blue eyes are soft, though there is a tightness around them that anyone who didn’t know the teenage shape-shifter might miss. Missy starts to ask her if she’s okay, but Remy frowns and gently shakes her head from side-to-side. _Not right now_ her expression states blatantly.

Missy regards the girl for a moment then smiles, letting her know she’s not alone with whatever is bother her. After a while, they accept their drinks from Justin who lingers long enough to lean over the bar and smack a sweet kiss on Missy’s mouth. Missy laughs and the atmosphere lightens enough that Remy tells Missy of her experiences when she first learned about her shape-shifting abilities. They pass the evening this way until Justin’s dad, Daniel, says he needs to shut down the generators for the night.

“I’ll be over as soon as I finish washing up,” Justin calls out to Missy as they leave. She gives him a wave and a smile; Remy waves, too, suddenly glad for the night out. They step into the cool night air and head back to the Weston house, both less tense than they were a few hours ago.

 

Dali and Jack are in the kitchen around one o’clock in the morning, speaking with a young magical couple who have dropped by to pass along their gratitude to Jack for helping them a while back and to give them their goodbyes. The conversation is quiet, the lovers sip the tea made by Dali and they discuss their plans for a new life in a town less prejudicial against magickers.

“We’ve heard that Duris has closed its gates to anyone who isn’t magical.” The young man, Ivan, states.

“Really?” Jack queries, curious. “How has that been accomplished?” He’s only been to the cliff-side town once and found it a bit dreary, except for the colorful marketplace his parents had taken the three of them to one summer. “My fondest memory of the place is the fire eaters.”

Dali grins and shakes his head. “I’ve never been.”

“Really,” the young woman, Katrina, asks with an incredulous expression. “I was born there but haven’t been since I was twelve. If the rumors are true, then it would be an exceptional place to raise an exceptional child.”

Ivan looks as if his heart is about to burst. He leans in, heedless of who’s watching, and kisses Katrina soundly on the mouth. Jack smiles at them, feeling oddly paternal, then catches the adoring look in Dali’s eye and winks at him.

The four of them erupt in laughter that is cut short when the back door flies open, flung so hard it rebounds off the wall to admit Missy and Remy, both women looking stricken.

Jack immediately grabs for his sister, Remy holding her arm; Dali closes and locks the door. Ivan and Katrina watch with fascination and not a little fear.

“Jack…Jack, they are following us.” Missy manages to inform him, her nails digging into his shoulder.

“Who…” he starts to ask, but Dali holds up his hands to quiet them all.

“You two, slip out the front. You’ve got the spell bundles in your pockets?” Dali asks, not waiting for an answer. When they nod meekly, he points towards the front door. “Get out of here.”

“Thank you,” whispers Katrina and she and Ivan stand and pull the hoods of their robes over their heads. “Blessed be.”

“Blessed be,” Remy, Missy, Dali and Jack say together. The young couple slips quietly away. Just over the sound of the front door latching closed is a loud bang that causes the kitchen door to shudder on its hinges.

“Damn,” Jack allows between gritted teeth. “Missy, you and Remy go to your bedroom.” He looks around the room as if missing something, “Where’s Justin?”

Remy’s eyes widen in fear but it is Missy who answers her brother’s question. “He won’t be more than thirty minutes or so behind us, he had to finish…”

Another loud bang.

“Jack, they’re going to break the door down.” Dali informs them under his breath.

Missy tries to explain, “They caught us coming out of the pub, tried to get me to let them have Remy, but I said ‘no’ and we ran, Jack, I’m sorry we didn’t fight them, but I don’t know what I could have done.”

“Missy, you did fine.”

Crack!

“Look, just keep Remy safe, okay. Let me see if we can talk some sense into them…”

Dali snorts over the sound of the door cracking again and Jack knows the peaceful phase of whatever is coming next is well and truly over.

“There’s no time,” Missy informs her brother, pushing out of his embrace, both palms flat on his chest. “They won’t get into my home that easily.”

The entire kitchen is suddenly awash in a cross fire of spells. The door finally breaks its hinges by exploding loudly. All four magickers turn to face a gaggle of the brown coats, both men and women. It is unclear who fires first, then there is nothing but chaos as spells fly around the room, striking walls and flesh in equal measure.

Two men and one of the women, oddly identical in height and build, push through the ruined doorway and raise their hands towards the magickers.

“Give us the shape-shifter,” one of the men commands. To his left, the woman draws her sword.

Behind him, Remy whimpers and Dali recognizes in an instant the women as one of Remy’s would-be murderers. Jack sees Dali nod out of the corner of his eye and murmurs an incantation no one else recognizes. The woman falls to the floor, her sword clattering against the wood as her knees give like cut marionette strings. She clutches her chest, twitches and breathes no more.

Jack’s expression is set in the cold stone of rage, not only for his family but for his friends and for every patient he’s been forced to patch up because of these people. More of the Cultists are pouring into the house now, but Jack’s making a bee-line for the man with the audacity to demand Jack hand over a guest in his house. The fight continues to rage on around him as he meets the man face to face with a swift, hard uppercut to the jaw. The man staggers and gropes for his sword. Jack takes the time to think about how weak these people really are without their weapons when he’s grabbed from behind, his arms pinned in place by a strong hand.

“Why can’t you magick lickers all play nice? We just wanted one of you, now I’ll be happy to take you all,” a man’s gruff voice says behind Jack’s ear. There’s an ominous pause in the reckless sound of fighting all around and the man Jack cold cocked is blown clear to the wall by a spell; he flumps to the floor, a trickle of blood down the side of his mouth the only tell that there had ever been life in his body.

Excited now and itching to exact some of his own brand of revenge, Jack lets his knees go soft and as his captor bends with him, he rears backwards and smashes the man in the face with all of his strength. The man staggers backwards only to be hit by a spell of Missy’s that forces him to the ceiling and holds him there.

Dali, Jack and Missy grin at each other. Their faces are streaked with grime and sweat and only then, after being proud of the way his sister has held her own in the fight, do they realize that the Cultists have stopped battling them because two of them are attempting to drag a screaming and kicking Remy out the door with them.

Behind the wanna’ be kidnappers, more brown-coats are still attempting to enter the house, however, and each magicker is throwing his or her best protection and defense spells at them, yet, they are all beginning to weaken and the brown-coats still seem to be multiplying in the chaos.

Someone, later, none of them will realize who started it, but one of them shouts above the noise,

“Together!” The three of them stand shoulder-to-shoulder across the kitchen, facing the door now. Jack and Dali count to three loudly. There’s a crack, a sizzle and Missy catches on, her own innate talent catching up quickly with theirs.

The strength of the three combined spells seems to do the trick that single spells aren’t accomplishing and soon the Weston siblings plus Dali have barricaded the entryway with the bodies of the people trying to kidnap the teenaged shape shifter. All of their spells are entwined just above their respective palms outward; a thin, golden thread of tiny multi-hued flashpoints flaring into the darkness that is occasionally making contact as the brown-coats take to their heels.

Their victory is short-lived, however, as they all step back and take a shell-shocked look at the carnage. There’s a gaping hole in the wall next to door jamb, the back door itself is lying beneath two bodies, the man Jack knocked out originally still rests in a heap on the floor in front of the sitting room, the kitchen table is scorched and has a trail of blood across it; the woman with the sword is lying flat out, face-down in the middle of the kitchen.

“Are you all alright?” Robert Greyson asks as he enters the house. He stops immediately and looks around, brow furrowed and lips pursed tight. The peace officer is an intelligent man, enough so that he’s able to sum up exactly what has been happening here in his absence rather quickly.

No one moves. Missy clutches Remy to her side, Jack and Dali stand up straight, facing Robert, waiting for whatever is going to happen next. In the ensuing loud silence, Robert calls out, “It is clear, Justin, they’re gone, come on in. Mind your steps.”

Justin walks carefully into the kitchen, his eyes taking in the mess, then stops in front of Missy. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Missy tells him quietly.

Justin nods and looks to the others. Remy has moved away from Missy and is clutching Jack’s hand. There is a strange, shimmery light around her and they are all aware that she is seconds from changing into her alter.

“Remy,” Jack croons, his voice petal soft. “Stay with us for just a little while, please?”

The girl looks up at him with wide eyes and blinks.

“Good,” he tells her.

“We need to…” Dali starts.

Robert talks over the young wizard, “I will take care of this, but Dali, you and Jack need to get out of here. I know your plans were to leave in a few weeks, and I’m not kicking you out of your own home, but seriously, take Remy home and come back, maybe by then they’ll be gone.” His hands rest on his hips, his expression resigned; the last thing he wants is to lose anyone he considers a friend, because he knows they’re all going to need allies, but this is too close to home.

“I’m not leaving,” Molly states firmly.

Robert shakes his head, “No, I think you two will be alright. I don’t think any of them got a good look at you, but they already know about Remy and with the power behind what Jack and Dali were volleying at them, I’m sure at least one of the dunderheads has figured them out. If they didn’t know you were a shape shifter before, they will at least have an inkling now.”

Dali nods his agreement. Between himself and Jack, Remy is trembling like a leaf. She changes and the wizard leans down and scoops her up into his arms.

“Let me take her,” Missy commands softly, holding out her arms. The white stoat chirps a weary sound and curls up against her chest. “She’s exhausted, who knows what that cost her.”

Dali understands all too well.

“Will they be safe?” Jack asks Robert, straightforward.

“As safe as I can keep them as long as we keep doing as we have been.” Robert answers him honestly.

“We will leave at first light,” Jack announces, his eyes skimming Dali’s face to see if the other man is on the same page.

“I agree,” Dali states.


	14. Part Two: Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest lobstergirl, if you are reading this, (or anyone else!) please note that the second part of this story is my NaNo entry for this year, so if you read through and it feels like something is 'missing' you could be right. I'm posting this here as an extra backup and incentive to finish this dad-gum thing! Also-I appreciate anyone who has read this far, trust me when I say there is still so far to go and I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

The grey mare’s thudding hoof beats come to an immediate halt with the slightest touch on the reins and a slight pressure of a heel to her side. She stretches her neck out and sniffs at the weeds growing beside the road. Dali, a twenty-one year old shape shifting wizard, stretches himself by leaning backwards until his head rests against her rump behind the saddle. Around him, the landscape that is normally swathed in a rainbow of greens and blues is washed in shades of charcoal and ash, deeper shadows made pale by a sun struggling to break through the thick fog hanging over the road as if put there by design.

“Jack, I think…” Dali starts, then his words trail off; he turns to look over his shoulder, dark curls windblown from travelling, amber eyes as intense in the half-light as they ever are, knowing full well what a dramatic picture he presents to the man behind him. He points in the direction they have been riding, black glove almost disappearing into the fog that surrounds them. He’s a bit unsure how it feels to be entering new territory without experiencing it with his alter’s senses; he can’t decide if he’s missing something important or if he should just trust what is coming to his human eyes and ears.

From where he’s been riding a few paces behind the wizard, Jack tugs his rangy bay gelding to a stop beside Dali’s mare and looks to where the younger man is pointing. Through the heavy fog-like mist that surrounds them, he can’t make out much, but it seems as if they’ve finally come upon the city of Reston, right now made up only of faint shadows of buildings in the distance.

“I think you are correct in your assumption,” Jack says with a chuckle, replacing his hat. He shifts in his saddle, readjusts his chocolate brown robes by pulling them from beneath his seat and spreading them behind the saddle then stretching his legs, pointing the toes of his boots first to the front then to the ground. Jack stands up in the stirrups and tries not to think about how long it is going to be before they can settle down for the night.

Both men are exhausted: they have been riding hard all night, working to put a distance between the confused and painful memories of everything that happened in Lambden in one chaotic night a few weeks ago. Dropping his reins down to the horse’s neck, he takes off his hat and scratches at his scalp then rolls his shoulders, stretching muscles sore from hours in the saddle. Jack kneads at his stiff shoulder, the phantom ache making an appearance after so long as if to remind him of a past not so far gone away as he would like it to be.

The long grass beside the hard-packed dirt road rustles, and both men drop their gazes down towards it, curious. Dali’s mare snorts and pulls at the bit in order to better look down at the ground as a white stoat with black tipped ears, a black tail and black paws eases her way between the horse’s hooves.

“Remy,” Dali says, his deep voice a whisper in the misty atmosphere. He switches the reins to one hand and leans down over the deep saddle in order to hold one hand out to the small creature. The stoat climbs into his palm and he eases back into a sitting position, allowing her to climb up his black robes to settle on his shoulder, tiny sharp claws digging into the thick, velvety fabric.

“How much farther?” Jack addresses the stoat who stares back at him with an intelligent expression that shows she is paying attention. She blinks twice, then turns her head towards the city.

Dali cocks his head at the small creature, studying her closely as the mare shifts beneath him. “Does that mean two streets into the city or two streets _after_ the city?”

Jack shrugs. “Dunno, but I have a feeling she’ll let us know once we get there.” He clicks his tongue as he guides the bay into the lead.

Dali follows suit, his mare settling into a rocking canter to keep up with the bay’s ground-covering trot as Remy tightens her hold on his shoulder. The three of them enter the city this way and Dali can’t help but smile at the dramatic picture they must make.

 

Of course, no one in the city really pays them much attention. Everyone manages to go on about their own business; a couple more travelers appearing at this time of year is nothing to be curious about as it is such a common occurrence during festival weeks. No one looks twice at them, no one notes anything odd or unusual; Dali’s eyes rove everywhere and he wonders how anyone could miss the stoat perched on his shoulder like a sentinel.

They are stopped at the gates and asked what their business is. Jack, having no desire to disclose their actual purpose, makes up some story about coming from Lambden with supplies to trade at the Market. Lucky for him, the Spring Market has already begun in Reston, so the tale is believable. Jack shakes the hand of the guard, tips his hat in the man’s direction and directs his horse towards the center of town as if he has been doing it his entire life.

Dali rides past the guard with a sharp nod, not stopping to offer his hand. It isn’t that he’s being overly rude, he is simply too worn out to hold back any proof of magic the way Jack is able to do, so it’s best if people consider him too stand-offish to approach. Dali keeps his mare at a slow walk, even so they pull up on Jack’s left side and remain there.

“Where’s a good place to stay, Remy?” Dali asks almost under his breath. The stoat raises her head from her paws where she has been resting it and makes a sharp chirp. “She wants us to get her home,” he informs Jack.

“That’s fine, I think. She said it is a yellow house west of the old hospital…huh.” Jack mutters ‘whoa’ under his breath and pulls his horse up short. Directly in front of them, banked on either side by the road, is the huge burned-out shell of what can only be the ‘old’ hospital. Jack turns to regard Remy.

“Is that it?”

Remy’s answer is a short trill that ends with another sharp chirp. Dali can hear her click her sharp little teeth together and decides that must be an affirmative.

Cold chills creep up Jack’s spine. “What the hell happened here?” he murmurs to himself as he dismounts and hands Dali his reins. “I’ll be right back.”

Dali doesn’t particularly like being told to sit still, which he has been effectively told to do; instead of bickering about it, he bites his tongue and nods, accepting the reins. Both horses take deep, shuddering breaths and relax, obviously glad for the rest.

On his shoulder, Remy goes tense and sits up, her eyes watching Jack circle the building like a hawk searching for prey.

“It’s alright,” Dali tells her softly, noting that both horses swivel their ears towards him as well, “Jack knows what he’s doing.”

In front of them, Jack is tugging off his gloves and stepping into the shadows of the decrepit structure. The fog has burned off some here so that Dali can make out enormous black scorch marks like mold on the naked, rusting steel that made the foundation of a once-thriving medical building.

Jack raises both hands towards the fallen rafters. Dali sees a slight arch of what would seem to be electricity to the uneducated eye pass between Jack’s fingers and a pile of twisted metal he can just make out to the right of what would have been the entrance of the hospital. Jack’s back is to him, even so, Dali can see his mentor and lover tense fractionally as the spell used to destroy the structure is revealed to him. After a few moments, Jack picks his way back to him.

“You’ve grown stronger,” Dali informs him as he hands Jack the reins back.

“I have, Dali. I think that night…” Jack cuts himself off as a group of people on horseback, all riding in tandem, pass them on the street.

Echoes of jangling buckles, spurs and swords reach their ears and Remy squeaks pitifully in Dali’s ear.

“That must be _them_ ,” Dali says, his expression hardening, glowing green eyes turning to ice. Remy makes a little whimpering trill in agreement.

Jack nods again as he swings into the saddle. “I thought as much. Glad we are out of their line of sight for the time being. I wish I could’ve gotten a better description of them from Justin, but we’ll have to go on what we already know for now.”

“I have no doubts.” Dali sets his jaw, his amber eyes flash with repressed rage at the sight of the reason they have been forced from their home.

“I don’t, either, but you know we’ve got more pressing things to take care of right now,” Jack tells him then clicks his tongue and directs his horse in the direction that the odd, military-esque group are travelling in. “Hopefully we’ll be far enough behind them that they’ll continue to pay us no mind.”

Dali doesn’t answer him, merely squeezes his thighs until the mare steps forward. Only when they are riding abreast again and out of the shadow of the gutted hospital does he speak again. “Jack, I don’t like being left behind.”

Jack peers at him from beneath the brim of his hat, dark blue eyes serious as he regards his lover. “I know, in this case you were better protection for Remy than I would have been.”

“What?” Dali queries, reaching up to stroke the stoat beneath the chin. He’s barely holding the reins anyway, they are simply decorating his fingers his touch is so light on the mare’s mouth.

“Claws, Dali, claws.” Jack answers.

Dali shakes his head and laughs a bit. “Alright, you’ve got me there. What did you find?”

“Honestly, nothing unexpected. If it is The Cultists, their learning curve has increased by half since Yuletide.”

“That wouldn’t be a good thing,” Dali states as they find themselves in front of a rather homey yellow cabin. “Is this it?” he asks the stoat.

Remy, however, is already clambering down off his shoulder, down his leg and leaping to the ground to land on all fours. She is trilling excitedly and in seconds is running down the short path and disappearing around the back of the house as fast as her short legs can carry her.

Jack huffs, amused. They remain mounted, taking in a little peace and enjoying each other’s company for a few moments. It doesn’t take long, though, before Remy is back.

A petite blonde girl wearing mint green robes and smiling at them is standing in the front doorway waving her hands at the magickers. She points toward a hitching post set in the small yard between the house and the road.

“We’ll be right there!” Jack calls, smiling back at her, relieved that it seems everything is at least alright enough with Remy’s family that they are welcome to come in. _For the time being_ , he tries not to think.

They tie their horses to the hitching post using the lead ropes wrapped loosely around the horses’ necks. Dali gives the mare a pat and a scratch between her ears and turns to go into the house.

Jack moves in between the horses, using them as a bit of a privacy screen. He steps in close, reaching up and resting his hand on the back of Dali’s neck. Dali exhales slowly and their eyes lock.

“We need to be alone,” Jack growls under his breath.

Dali grins devilishly. “Soon enough, I think,” he murmurs against Jack’s lips as they press against his own. Their kiss lasts only long enough to slake some of the desire that’s been building up between them without an outlet for days. Being on the road with a young companion and only one tent has not dampened their need for physical intimacy, but has seriously hindered it.

Dali leans down in order to rest his forehead against Jack’s, a move that causes Jack’s hat to slip backward. Dali sweeps it off his head, accidentally brushing the gelding’s flank. The horse starts slowly, giving them no more reaction that a flick of an ear in their direction. It breaks the tension somewhat and Dali takes his hands from Jack’s hips.

“Tonight,” he promises.

Jack nods, looks pointedly at the house where their friend is waiting to introduce them to her mother, and then discreetly adjusts himself in his breeches. He turns back and winks at Dali before starting up the short walk to the house.

Dali looks around them, taking in the overall feel of the place as well as the dainty, struggling flowers someone has planted along the walkway. He stops, allowing Jack to get to the door first then kneels down and brushes his long fingers gracefully over each tiny plant.

When Remy opens the door again, her jaw drops in astonishment. Jack steps over the threshold, followed by Dali and Remy keeps staring at the six-inch tall red, white and blue flowers that seem to have bloomed in Dali’s wake.

“Those flowers are two months before their time!” she hisses under her breath at the shape shifter.

“Oops,” he teasing, eyes gleaming as he winks at her.

“Stop it,” Jack mutters as they are lead into a small and very neat sitting room, “kids,” he adds as an afterthought.

Remy merely sniffs at him, used to his teasing by now. Dali bends down close to Jack’s ear, clearly in a playful mood now and whispers, “I’ll show you a kid.”

Jack politely fights the urge to push the young wizard down on the nearest horizontal surface and have his way with him. He frowns up at him and clears his throat.

Dali actually giggles just as Remy’s mother enters the room.

The woman is petite like her daughter, clothed in deep, hunter green robes and wearing matching jewels in her long, golden hair. She shares Remy’s skin tone, buttermilk pale with a slight dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose; intelligent brown eyes regard both men closely as if she is sizes them up.

Jack is the first to offer his hand to the lady. He greets her with a slight bow as he suavely removes his hat.

Dali follows suit, suddenly struck mute and unsure of himself. Not that he has no idea how to act, he’s just grown accustomed to Jack’s little sister, Missy, and the usually-quiet as a mouse Remy, who both meet him on his own level. There’s something about this Lady, and there is no doubt that she deserves such a title, that strikes a chord in him—drags to the surface of his mind a strong memory of his First and Second mothers.

“Ma’am,” he says, almost dropping to his knees as he places a kiss on the back of her hand.

“I am pleased to meet both of you,” the woman tells them, gesturing around the room in order to offer them choice of a seats. “Remy speaks quite highly of you. You are Doctor Jack, then?”

Jack nods after getting comfortable in an armchair. Dali hesitates for a moment then takes his place on the floor between Jack’s knees. Jack notes the odd behavior but says nothing, accepting it as the norm lest Remy’s mother feel as if she’s made either of them uncomfortable in any way.

“You must be Dali, then.” She tilts her chin in the wizard’s direction, pinning him with her clever gaze. When he nods back, she smiles warmly. “I am Julean, welcome to our home. How did you find your journey?” She rests a small, well-made hand on the arm of her couch and watches the two men with an interested expression.

Jack describes a few details of their three-day trek westward, unsure how much to say. He is aware that the woman is aware that her daughter is a shape-shifter, though he’s a bit nervous as to how accepting a household she runs until she snaps her fingers and conjures a tea service strongly reminiscent of how Missy does exactly the same thing.

“Thanks, mum,” Remy says as she folds herself into the chair next to Jack’s. She plucks her cup from mid-air and sips it with a hum.

“You’re more than welcome, Remy, I’m so glad to have you home!” Julean’s smile is a bit watery as she takes a slow drink of her own tea.

“I want to thank you, both of you, and your sister, too, Jack, for taking such good care of my girl,” Julean lets her tea cup go and it floats a little ways from her. She stands suddenly in order to wrap Remy up in a hug.

Remy squeaks a little, embarrassed on the sudden show of emotion from her mother in front of the men, but she doesn’t fight it.

Dali looks up and meets Jack’s adoring gaze. Beside them, Julean lets Remy go then perches on the arm of her chair, striking up and keeping a conversation about magic that turns out to give them all a bit of new information. The afternoon passes more pleasantly than any Jack and Dali have had since Yuletide.

 

 


	15. P2: Chapter Sixteen

After being invited to have dinner with Remy and Julean, Jack discreetly inquires as to where a boarding house would be in town. Julean gives him a name and directions with a smile and informs them that since they don’t have much money, the owner of the boarding house is willing to trade for room and board; she then packs them a small bag of leftovers and sees them out with a quiet smile of gratitude. Jack and Dali both gave Remy a hug before leaving the girl with her adoring parent.

The boarding house is a thirty minute ride from Remy’s house, tucked back into a thick copse of trees on the outskirts of the city. They arrive just as the sun begins its descent on the horizon. It is a tall, clapboard structure, leaning slightly to one side. The proprietor of the place is an old man that everyone in Reston calls ‘Old Bill,’ which Dali finds amusing and Jack feels isn’t formal enough.

Old Bill himself stands about five foot five inches tall, if he could stand up straight. His spine is twisted enough to knock five inches off his height. His face is line and weathered, there’s a cloud of white, wispy hair about his head, he’s crass and his eyes are runny and to top it off, he’s got a mouth like a nineteenth century sailor—but, despite his shortcomings, the man is a sympathizer. Old Bill isn’t afraid to tell anyone that, either, except he’s largely ignored by the town’s populace, save for a very few who consider the grouchy old codger to be something resembling a friend.

Apparently, Julean and Remy fall into this latter, very small, category. Old Bill’s red-rimmed brown eyes light up as Dali and Jack dismount their horses at the tiny four-stall stable behind the boarding house.

“Aye, there’s a pair a good ‘uns I ever see.” Old Bill rasps from the doorway at the back of the house. He grins up at them, yellow teeth almost the same color as the light from his candles pouring into the small yard between the house and stable. “You’re gonna’ hafta take care of ‘em yerself, though, I’ve got no help.”

Old Bill points towards a stack of hay at the end of the yard, covered as it is with a brown tarp. “Yonder there’s some hay and I do have runnin’ water, so you two take care o’them trusty steeds and I’ll set some water ta boilin’.”

“Jack,” Dali asks, flipping the reins over the mare’s head to lead her into a stall, “did he mean the horses or us?”

Jack shakes his head as he tugs off his horse’s saddle. “I’ve absolutely no idea. Julean says he’s a bit barmy, but he seems alright.”

“What have you gotten us into?” Dali flips his saddle upside down and drapes the saddle blanket overtop it to dry out. He fetches the hay and offers it to both horses while Jack grabs both surprisingly clean water buckets and hauls them to the spigot beside the haystack. He pumps the handle twice and fills them promptly, seeming uninclined to answer Dali’s question.

Once the horses are bedded down, they step in through the backdoor of the boarding house and into a small dining room. Old Bill has candles floating about, though they levitate only a few inches from their holders which are apparently there to keep non-magickers from seeing the trick. The three men introduce themselves to each other.

“Has it really gotten this bad?” Jack asks as he takes a chair at the table.

Dali sits across from him as Old Bill calls to them from the kitchen, which is partially blocked off from the dining area by a partition decorated with painted-on ivy and purple flowers.

“Aye.” The old man appears in a few minutes, hands slightly shaking as he carries a large tray covered with slices of meat, cheese and bread.

“Let me get that for you,” Jack says and starts to get up, but Dali is already moving. He takes the tray and sets it on the table.

“Jack, would you?” Dali points towards the kitchen as he pulls out the chair at the head of the table for Old Bill.

Jack nods and raises a hand, silently retrieving whatever other items were left out on the counter in the kitchen to go with this meal, he’s careful, though, since he isn’t too keen on getting beaned with a jar or having hot tea dumped in his lap.

“’preciate that,” Bill informs them as he grabs for a glass jar of spread as it floats past him.

For a few moments, the men focus on building sandwiches and pouring tea. Jack is trying to be patient, even so his and Dali’s eyes keep locking over the table and he can’t think of a way to be polite and excuse them to their room.

“Yer room is upstairs, farthest down the hallway, lad.” Old Bill offers, a bit of bread crumbs flecking the corner of his mouth as he speaks.

“Thank you.” Jack returns.

“How do you two boys know Julean?” Old Bill’s gruff voice stops Jack before he pushes away from the table.

Jack’s eyes meet Dali’s and for a few seconds both men wonder how much to tell the old man, ally or not. Dali gestures towards Bill with the blunt end of the pickle spear he’s munching on as if to say that he has no idea.

“We are friends with her daughter, Remy, sir.” Dali answers.

“Aye, little ‘shifter ain’t she?” Old Bill wipes his mouth with a rather tatty handkerchief he takes from an unseen pocket. When neither man answers, he does it himself. “You don’t have to been worried about what I think, lads, I been friends with Julean most of her life. When she got pregnant by that no good Conrad Jenkins, I thought fer sure she’d send him packing.”

“We don’t know her that well…” Jack starts.

Old Bill interrupts him, “Aye, got that son. Listen to me now, I been around these parts for nigh on eighty years. Got me?”

Jack nods. Dali watches the exchange with interest.

“Lemme tell you lads something, Julean is a good woman and her little baby girl will be someday, too. She disappeared a few months ago and we all know it was them…I don’t know what folks are callin’ em now, but they’re like a militia…”

“The Cultists,” Dali adds quietly.

“What do you say, boy?” Old Bill leans forward, cupping his ear with trembling fingers.

Dali clears his throat, looks down at his empty plate and feels every much the schoolboy being corrected for a mistake. “Jack’s family and I call them Cultists.”

Old Bill frowns sternly and seems for a moment like he’s going to unleash some sort of tirade in Dali’s direction. Instead, he wipes at his teeth with his tongue and sits back in his chair. “That’s a good enough name, I reckon.”

Jack sees an opportunity and takes it, his libido be damned. “Bill, how long have they been in Reston?”

Bill considers his answer, scratching idly at the wiry stubble on his chin. “You a military man, Jack?”

Jack stares at him.

“Oh now don’t go gettin’ offended, lad, Julean sent me a message usin’ one o them birds she keeps…didn’t she show you her pigeon coops? No? Well, then, what kind of fool do you take me for, letting two wizards pop up on my doorstep?”

No one has an answer for that.

“I coulda jes kept the house hidden, you know, let you two boys carry on till you got to the woods.” Bill cocks a wiry eyebrow mischievously.

“You hide the house?” Jack asks, slightly stunned because he’s sure the old man barely had enough magick left in him to keep the candles in the dining room lit, let alone pull a cloaking spell down on an entire house.

“Course I do, think I want them buggers, what do you call them? Right, Cultists…you think I want them up in here?” With that, Old Bill laughs and smacks Jack on the shoulder with surprising strength for one who seems so fragile. “You know what? You two need to rest if people so intelligent can’t seem to wrap their minds around me. I was doin’ magic when you were still in diapers,” he points at Jack then at Dali and raises his bushy eyebrows up so high they disappear into his hairline. “Certainly before you was ever a twinkle in yer daddy’s eye.”

Dali goes tense at the mention of his most detested parent. Old Bill senses it and tilts his head, but wisely says nothing. “I’m going out tonight, I think I go visit an old friend. Would you mind?”

Jack follows to where Old Bill is gesturing at the table, tearing his attention from Dali. Catching on, he says, “yes, we’ll clean up. Thank you for supper.”

“Glad to know someone’s gonna git laid in this house. It’s been too long. Just don’t tear up the bed, boys.” Old Bill states baldly as he makes his way out of the room with a slow, slightly waddling gait. Jack and Dali stay in their chairs until they hear the front door close with a snap and then Bill’s deep voice crooning some sort of spell outside.

“He’s hiding the place.” Dali says, his voice filled with what Jack thinks must be awe that’s in high contrast to the pretty flush over his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“Sounds like it,” Jack answers. “What do you think?” He looks up and Dali is suddenly beside him, looming and pushing into Jack’s space.

“I don’t want to think about them right now,” Dali rumbles, leaning down and kissing the back of Jack’s neck.

Jack closes his eyes against the sensation. “Hold that thought, let’s get this mess, yeah?”

 

Jack follows Dali up the stairs to the second floor of the house and straight to the end of the hallway where Old Bill said their room is. It is a small bedroom with a slightly crooked ceiling, but warm and welcoming all the same. There is a large carpet on the floor that looks as if it is made of reddish-brown wool. Of course, Jack doesn’t pay too much attention to it until his bare knees are on it and he’s looking up at Dali and practically begging the young wizard to drop his breeches.

Dali grins boyishly and takes his time slipping out of his robes then slowly lowers his breeches, even stepping back a pace so as not to chin Jack with his knee. Gazes locked, Jack takes his time taking Dali in his mouth until he is almost begging Jack to get on with it. Jack smirks up at him, grabs one of Dali’s buttocks in each hand and squeezes as he relaxes his throat and takes as much of Dali in as he can possibly do without choking.

“Jack!” Dali cries, gripping the sides of Jack’s head with his big hands. The searing heat of an impending climax has already begun to pool at the base of his spine; he fights it enough to push Jack backwards a bit rougher than he intends.

“Dali?” Jack wonders, making his way to his feet and somehow never taking his hands of Dali in the meantime. “Look at me,” he says calmly.

Dali obeys and Jack admires the younger man’s heavy amber eyes with fascination. Realizing instantly why his lover requested the pause, he smiles a wicked smile and walks backwards to the bed, pulling Dali along with both hands. The young wizard goes willingly, glad to have taken a step back from the edge for a few moments.

Dali’s respite doesn’t last long, though, because it takes Jack no time at all to bring him right back with his mouth and his hands; panting like a dog, Dali grabs Jack and drags him in closer in order to plunder his mouth. Jack rumbles and nips at Dali’s lips as he slowly grinds against him. Getting his wind back, Dali flips them and returns the favor, going down on him so fast that Jack finds himself gasping and practically bucking upward into Dali’s mouth. Dali balances himself on his hands, using the same leverage to keep Jack from choking him. Jack comes with a shout that threatens to shake the walls down around them.

Dali leaves him with a nip to his neck, crossing the room naked towards the tiny loo. He grabs a clean towel and wets it in the sink, silently glad at the pumped-in water because he doesn’t think he’s got enough energy left to summon anything except sleep. They clean each other up, Dali climbs back into bed and slots his hips against Jack’s and the last thing he remembers is a few murmured endearments before sleep overtakes him.


	16. P2: Chapter Seventeen

“Get up you lazy sons a bitches!”

Jack awakens with a start, sitting up so fast his head spins. He closes his eyes and fights the inertia for a moment, slowly regaining his faculties and remembering where they are.

Dali grumbles and slides lower beneath the blankets.

“Apparently that’s our wake-up call,” Jack grumbles wryly then helps Dali along by ripping the blankets off him.

“Dammit Jack!” Dali growls, sitting up and running his hands through his hair, not really succeeding in doing much with the slightly frizzy curls except flattening the flat side more and making the puffy side even puffier.

Jack can’t help but enjoy the sight of his disheveled, bed-headed lover. Grinning, he leans in and meets Dali’s scowling lips with his own.

“Well, I didn’t order a wake-up call,” Dali mutters.

“Naw, I didn’t either, but I’m curious to see what kind of information the old codger’s got for us. Come on, it’s better than sitting around thinking….” Jack smacks his hand on Dali’s thigh and doesn’t say _better than sitting around thinking about a home we can’t return to_.

To his credit, Dali understands. He nods then winks at Jack and promptly turns into a black cat. The cat stands up on his hind legs, balanced against Jack’s shoulder, and kneading at him with his polydactyl paws.

“Seriously, that’s cheating and won’t get you out of any work, you know that, right?” Jack informs him, giving him a scratch on the head and then one on the belly. Dali purrs loudly while looking up as adoringly as his cat eyes will allow; Jack accepts that as an answer of sorts.

It turns out that Old Bill is into trading. As in, trading Jack’s sweat and sore muscles for room and board. Not that Jack’s complaining, exactly, at the end of the day the work keeps him from overthinking things, but it’s not exactly the arrangement he’d been hoping to work out for the time being that they are homeless.

Today they have standing orders that have them mucking out the tiny stable, working side-by-side and down to nothing but their breeches and boots, despite the cool wind blowing in from the forest behind them. Late morning sunlight streams into the wide-open structure around them; the sound of horses shifting and the clean smells of leather and fresh hay create an atmosphere that would certainly calm the most chaotic mind. It is surely working on Jack, Dali thinks as he closely observes his lover. He marvels at how the other man always seems to adapt to any situation by throwing everything he is into it; he doesn’t really want to be seen as lazy, but he can’t keep his eyes on his own job. The stray thought of why they are not simply using magick for this task enters his mind, but just as fast he dismisses it; possibly Jack is relishing the work because it keeps his mind too busy to worry about what is happening back in Lambden.

Jack works quietly, biceps and forearms straining with each shovelful of old bedding and hay; though his mind is whirling through the information Old Bill had regaled them with at supper last night. He’s considering the old man’s words with more than a little salt, though at the heart, he sees the kernels of truth.

The Cultists are now referring to themselves as “Helpers.” In the week he and Dali have been in Reston, word apparently has gotten around about Jack’s healing skills, and he’s found himself right in the middle of doing exactly the same thing he was doing back in Lambden—helping out and healing the injured and the sick.

Sickness is pretty much the same everywhere humans exist, but the injuries are getting worse. There’s been an diverse mix of the same cuts and slashes he was seeing in Lambden; added to that has been a couple of very serious wounds, and at least one slash that cut through the bone of a young man’s wrist bad enough that Jack couldn’t save the hand. He still feels guilty about that one on top of everything else that’s happened in the past few weeks add that to the guilt over the young man’s hand and it is enough to make him work his body just that much harder, push himself a little farther until dirty straw is flying in every direction and Dali is calling his name.

Jack feels like he’s possessed and he’s unsure what has come over him. He finally forces himself to stop and stares at the younger man, Dali’s eyes wide open with concern and maybe even a little fear. Jack freezes on the spot, bare chest heaving, and his mouth slightly open; he blinks a bit as if coming back from some particularly strong spellwork.

“Jack?” Dali whispers as he steps closer, his warm breath a caress on Jack’s cheek, “Where did you go?”

Jack shakes his head and drops his shovel in order to grasp Dali’s forearms. They stay that way for a few moments; when Jack feels he’s got himself back under control, he exhales and allows his magick loose, it curls in a deep blue stream from the palm of his hand around Dali’s forearm then up to his shoulder like a thick velvet ribbon.

Dali watches the magick stream around his arm, amazed at the absolute warmth of it as it lightly tickles his skin. Everything else around them seems washed out and pale by comparison, from the green-tinged hay to the yellow straw to the brown handles of their shovels. “What is this?”

Jack’s eyes move from his observation of this physical manifestation of his innate power to Dali’s curious expression. A tiny smile graces his lips. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

The ribbon is beginning to fade as it skates across Dali’s shoulders and over the nape of his neck like some sort of strange, opaque and inorganic snake. The tip of it touches his ear and disappears like smoke, causing Dali to gasp in surprise.

“That was your voice,” he announces.

One of the horses nickers and the other stamps a hoof, breaking into the almost-silent bubble that has frozen time around them, bringing them back to the present and the chores that must still be completed. They lean together, head to head, Jack’s hands clasping Dali’s arms, resting against one another the way poles of lean-to manage to make look so easy.

Dali silently relives his memories of their forced leave from Lambden; not like they weren’t planning on going anyway, simply the entire scene at the Weston’s home that last day pushed their exit sooner than what they had in mind. Dali is all too aware of the loss Jack feels; for himself, that loss was felt so long ago, so much earlier than most people must face it that he’d moved into acceptance of his situation practically before Jack even had time to process it.

A fleeting memory of the last time he ever saw his mother smile flashes through his subconscious, broken only when he registers movement outside the stall they are in from the corner of his eye.

“That was pretty impressive, lad.” Old Bill says almost to himself from where he’s standing, one foot up on the bottom rail of the stall door. He’s wearing a set of eye-scalding bright red robes today that Dali decides match his nose; not that he’d ever tell the old man that.

Dali and Jack pull away from each other slowly, reluctant to let go in the face of this heretofore unknown magick that has presented itself to them. Jack’s blue eyes flicker over Dali’s face, questioning. Dali nods silently as Jack’s hands slip from his arms; he feels much colder then so he grabs his tunic from where it’s hung on the opposite wall of the stall, gently pushing the grey mare out of the way as he does so. She snorts and swishes her tail, Dali gives her a pat and watches her posture relax; he knows she’ll quickly return to her napping then so he turns his attention back to Bill and Jack’s conversation.

Jack has already left the stall and he’s pulling his tunic over his head. Old Bill is holding up a cup of water. Jack accepts it and thanks him, taking a long drink then handing the cup back in order to scratch his horse’s ears. The big bay hangs his head over the door and sniffs Jack’s hair.

“I’m all sweaty, Dusty,” Jack laughs.

Old Bill snorts at the name Jack has apparently decided his horse should have and gives Dali the once-over as he talks in low tones to the grey mare as he exits her stall. “You two sure have an affinity with _animals_ ,” Bill says, his voice putting a special emphasis on the last word.

Once again, Dali finds himself rooted to the spot. Obviously Bill is a magicker himself, but the ability to shape-shift is so rare, so unusual in the overall population, that for a moment Dali is highly concerned.

“Oh knock it off, boy, if I was worried about it, I would have said something earlier. Julean’s no dummy, besides Remy’s alter is that little white stoat.” Bill’s voice is gruff, but the mischievous twinkle in his eye is friendly enough.

Jack clears his throat. “What gave it away?”

Bill grins boyishly, “You know, I don’t think I’m going to tell ya that. I’m no fool, actually I’m a bit disappointed that no one else has figured it out yet.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asks, narrowing his eyes at the old man.

“I don’t mean anything bad by it, lad.” Bill raises his hands in the worldwide gesture of supplication. “Oh let’s never even mind. I’ve got the information you wanted, will that be enough to console your little worried minds?”

Dali crosses his arms over his chest. He hasn’t yet made up his mind whether he actually likes the old man or not because it always seems Bill is taking pot shots at him in particular. It goes without saying that he is not much amused. Bill merely lifts his bushy eyebrows in Dali’s direction and grips Jack’s shoulder, expression not so mischievous now; no, now it is more like he’s inviting Dali to some sort of game.

A strange twinge of _something_ he can’t name flashes through Dali and he shakes his head; making a snap decision he changes into his alter, trots to Jack and sits down at his feet with a plaintive _meow_. Since the cat is already out of the bag as it is, he thinks nothing about it. Jack looks down, frowns, then back up to Bill who shrugs innocently.

Dali sees Bill’s innocent expression fall for a moment to be replaced with one of cunning and as Jack picks him up, he narrows his eyes at Bill and even makes a pass at the elderly man with all six claws extended. He misses, of course, but it is clear that Bill takes heed of the warning. Dali turns in Jack’s arms, stretching a little and bumping the top of his head against Jack’s chin, a movement meant to say, without a doubt, _mine_.

 

“This is a village?” Jack mutters to himself loud enough for Dali to hear.

Spread out on either side of the hard-packed dirt road are vast farm fields of brown, twisted plants long gone from ‘seed’ to flat out ‘dead.’ The sight of them gives Dali a twinge of homesickness that he shrugs off by jangling the mare’s reins a bit and asking her to move forward. She does so but not without a restless toss of her head and practically dancing on the tips of her hooves, ears swiveling left and right out of pure nervous energy, though this nothing in front of her to see except for an old metal gate standing wide open across the road. Dali croons to her then looks over his shoulder to see that Jack’s gelding is doing the same thing, albeit at a calmer pace.

“Yes, this is the place. Why would Old Bill send us here?” Jack wonders aloud to himself as he points his mount’s head in the direction of the gate that looks as if it hasn’t been closed in ages; as they draw closer to it, both men can clearly see rust spots around the hinges. Really, the most interesting thing about it is that it is made of metal, a seemingly lost art at this time. There’s a broken-down wooden sign still clinging to the top of the gate via a rusted screw someone long ago drove through the wood and into the metal below it. The name of the town is slowly peeling, but Jack manages to make it out.

_.:Welcome to Calum:._

The two men ride down the main street of what still remains of the town, a place that used to be a thriving village halfway between Reston and the northeastern coast. It is glaringly obvious to anyone that it has fallen on more than difficult times. Besides the abandoned fields outside the village proper, the houses lining the street that were once painted brightly but now the faded colors are peeling away from the neglected clapboard giving them an ungraceful, unloved air.

There’s something else, though, and it is making the little hairs on the back of Dali’s neck stand up. He has to fight the ever present urge to change in his alter and scamper up into Jack’s arms—it is odd, this feeling, and it is the strongest it’s ever been, even when he lived on his own. It makes him replay the fear of being alone in a great house with empty rooms and no one to care whether he bathed regularly or ate his meals.

Without realizing it, Dali has nudged the mare to a complete stop, his gaze on the houses but no longer seeing them.

Jack rides a few strides ahead when he realizes that Dali is not beside him he halts the gelding then turns around. He watches the young wizard quizzically for a moment before calling his name, noting how his voice echoes hollowly in the otherwise empty street. For the space of fifteen heartbeats, neither Dali nor his horse moves at all; a forgotten statute of life despite the decay all around them.

Without warning, shadowy shapes begin to emerge from the hidden alleys between the dilapidated houses surrounding them. Dali’s mare tosses her head and lashes her tail back and forth then snorts loudly.

“Easy,” Dali whispers, patting the side of her neck. He shifts to balance on the balls of his feet in the stirrups, ready for whatever the next course of action may be.

A few paces away, Jack has turned Dusty around in a small circle. The gelding seems calmer than Dali’s mount, though he’s still jittery and pawing at the ground with one foot.

Dali’s mare sniffs the ground nervously then raises her head and pins her ears. Her eyes roll in their sockets and Dali can feel her entire body tense beneath his legs. Uncharacteristically, she champs her bit and pulls at Dali’s hands. He shifts his weight from side to side as every fiber in his being is shouting at him to prepare for being attacked. He does not speak nor attempt to draw attention to himself in any way. Though he and Jack have shared a couple of small skirmishes between them, he is emphatically aware that battles are Jack’s territory and not his own. Dali looks to Jack to lead them, to make the decisions, and he is willing to follow the older man’s orders because he trusts him to get them through this situation with the least amount of damage.

Jack sits in his saddle as if relaxing in his favorite armchair, taking stock of the situation, noting exactly where each figure stands and noting, too, the absolute _lack_ of sound: no wind blowing, no sound of a dog barking in the distance, it is almost as if they have fallen into a vacuum. He copies his lover’s movements and stands up in the saddle, loosely gripping the reins between the fingers of his left hand. Dusty snorts but keeps his eyes trained forward, waiting on Jack’s next signal.

The figures steadily come closer, though they do not become any clearer to the eye.

The daylight around them becomes darker, ashen as if a great fire is burning somewhere and throwing debris high into the air. Jack and Dali’s gazes meet and slowly they turn their horses until the animals are rump to rump so that Jack and Dali are effectively back to back, allowing each man to see what is coming for them and possibly give each other time to react appropriately should either one of them be taken out of the fight early.

When the strange wispy figures finally approach them to make contact, the tension crackling between the healer and the wizard slowly begins to unwind. Overall, the entire thing is over in seconds; later Dali will consider it to be anticlimactic in the scheme of things.

One of the taller of the hooded figures approaches Jack and holds out a fine, bony hand. What skin that can been easily seen beneath the muddy gray weirdly opaque robes is a shade or two darker than Dali’s olive tone, proof that the figure is undoubtedly human. That recognition, the idea that what they’ve run headlong into is at least human allows some of the ‘battle ready’ tension to drain from Jack’s body. He can clearly hear Dali’s exhale and knows that the young wizard feels the same.

Jack regards the figure next to him cautiously, only deciding to attempt communication when none of the others make any effort to move from their places in the street. This person has come the closest so Jack is thinking of him or her as the leader.

“What has happened here?” Jack gestures around at the dilapidated houses with his right hand.

The figure shakes his head as long, bony fingers, same with bruises on the knuckles and torn nails slowly push back the hood of the robes it wears. When the woman’s face is finally revealed, as this is now obviously a woman with her smooth jaw devoid of stubble, Jack inhales sharply and tries in vain not to stare.

The willowy woman takes two steps backward so that Dali, who has moved his horse around to face her, can see. Her fine features have been ravaged, dried scabs surround her mouth, her nose is virtually nothing more than a flat flap of skin, and there are weeping scabs at her hairline. One eye is milky white, the lid drooping almost closed while the other, which studies Jack carefully, has a chocolate brown iris and is the only part of her face that can be considered ‘normal.’

“My god,” Jack breathes, covering his mouth with one hand. Empathy is coming off of him in waves.

Dali’s mare rests her head against Dusty’s neck and for a moment they all regard each other until Dali has to ask, “Jack? What happened to her?”

“It ‘twas the magickers. They brought this plague upon us.” When she speaks, the woman’s voice is raspy and she lisps around every letter of her words.

Dali is given the distinct impression that her tongue has been affected by whatever has done this to her, however biological or supernatural in origin it may be.

Jack swings his leg over Dusty’s back and gracefully dismounts, once again handing Dali the reins. They share a silent agreement that Jack will only attempt what is necessary without pushing too hard; the young wizard is sure his lover is in agreement with him that there is more to what is happening here than meets the eye. Though he’s not spent much time studying magical diseases, he has an inkling that he is looking at a clear case of one.

Jack moves slowly up to the woman, who is taller than him by almost a head, and raises his hands between them, palms outward. A gruff hum begins in the small cluster of robed figures and they step closer until Dali, the horses, Jack and the woman are completely encircled by them. With Jack on the ground, Dali is tenser and slightly irritated that he has to sit here like a child when he knows he is Jack’s partner in this.

The shape shifter shrugs off his annoyance, tells himself that they will discuss it at a more appropriate time, and then turns his full attention to what is happening on the ground, frowning at the faint glow of light that is now shrouding the sick woman.

“Jack, she just blamed magickers…” Dali’s words trail off into nothing because the woman is obviously allowing herself to be checked out.

 

There is absolutely nothing in Dali’s mind at this moment, because he cannot seem to wrap his brain around the idea that there are _this many_ sick people in one place, all of them from this single town of Calum. He watches Jack walk back and forth between the queues of beds that line either side of the wall in this converted theater. He can tell by the distinct lack of carpeting that the place was gutted years ago—and if he is guessing, probably right about the same time that the electric power plants all went kaput, because when he looks up at the ceiling, though the house lights no longer linger there, over time a multitude of wires have fallen through and hang now, dejected, some even cut off when they began to get in the way of the medical staff.

Straight ahead at the end of the enormous room are five steps that still lead up to a stage no longer fit for entertainment as it has been put into use as a pharmacy slash launderette slash kitchen as well as a place for the massive generator that is currently running the lamps spread about the sick floor and the stage. A large table covered with papers and coffee mugs sits off to the right side of the old stage, opposite the generator, though the air disturbed by the machine stirs the papers, causing them to ruffle up every so often.

Dali fidgeted with his robes, thudding his boot heels against the wooden floor a couple of times and generally tried to not be incredibly uncomfortable. Treating patients as they came _to_ Jack is a lot different than coming to them and the smells were torture! He tried to shift last night only to find everything in Calum overwhelmed him with the sights and the scents of disease. As a result, he was probably more than a little bit touchy today, but so far, Jack had sad nothing other than ‘good morning.’

They found a room last night in an abandoned bed and breakfast type place a few meters and across the street beyond the makeshift hospital. Behind that is a shed that had already been converted into a barn, so the horses were comfortable, too.

Jack managed to dig up some candles and start a fire so they were able to eat some of the food out of their packs by candlelight and then rest. The bed was narrow, which is why Dali decided to shift but the onslaught to his senses was too much and he spent the night spooned against Jack’s broad back catching short hour-leg snatches of sleep throughout.

A few times whilst Dali watches Jack, the healer looks up and offers him a faint smile and a nod, once even gesturing him towards the patient he was speaking to, but Dali made no effort to move from his current spot. He simply shook his head lightly, gave him an answering smile and stood there as if possessed long roots that hold him fast to the floor.

 

 

“Dali, I’m just trying to get enough information from them to find out what happened here. I’m sure now this is why Old Bill sent us in this direction.” Jack says to him a half hour later when they are standing outside.

“I understand,” Dali agrees, his eyes everywhere but on Jack’s face.

“I don’t. What is it? You’ve never a problem helping me with patients before, I don’t think. Why now?” Jack grabs Dali’s forearms, tugging at him until the young wizard finally looks at him.

Dali chews his bottom lip, his gaze far away and searing into Jack’s eyes at the same time. “It all smells wrong.”

“What?” Jack, confused now, drops Dali’s arms and cross his own over his chest then cocks his head. “What?” he repeats. “It’s sickness, disease, Dali, not like you’ve never come across it before…”

Dali’s emphatic head shake stops the flow of Jack’s words. He holds up one hand as if to placate the healer. “No. I mean, yes, it does smell like sickness but when I tried to shift last night, I couldn’t bear it.”

“Ah,” Jack says, nodding to himself. “That’s why you were more like a limpet last night than a feline. I thought maybe you were just nervous about yesterday.”

“No.”

Jack watches his lover a little more closely now, sees how the younger man stands tense, even with his back against the dirty wall of the old theater; there is something else affecting him.

“Dali, tell me.”

Dali huffs and for a second Jack thinks he’s really going to back out of answering. “I don’t really want to have this discussion right now.”

Jack narrows his eyes, thinking about how sometimes he hates it when he’s right. “Look, tell me, alright? I told Tessa that I would be back shortly and I need to know what’s going on with you.”

“Tessa?” Dali ignores the rest of Jack’s statement.

“Yes, the lady in the white lab coat. She’s a healer, too, Dali. I’d like you to meet her.” Jack’s expression softens and he holds out his hand.

“You aren’t going to leave me behind again then?” The second the words tumble from his lips Dali knows how childish they sound, but he can’t stop them. His eyes widen as he watches Jack’s expression change again, suddenly becoming something new—not quite angry but some of the fondness has gone out of it.

“What?” Jack holds his hand over his mouth, teeth grazing his index finger as if to hold in what he wants to say.

Dali sighs, really wanting to avoid this entire conversation but since it was him who brought it up, he’s got no choice. Truth is, the idea has really been bothering him and they’ve been travelling so when was he going to be able to bring it up?

“Alright. Jack, it bothers me when you leave me with the horses in order to check out something—either an old broken down building or the sick woman from yesterday.” _There, I said it_ , he thinks, _for better or for worse_.

Jack regards him silently for the space of ten heartbeats. “I guess I should apologize for that.”

Dali relaxes a little, glad Jack can see his side of things.

“But, really, it’s a leftover habit from being responsible for a team. Dali, when I was stationed overseas, most times it was only us, you know? As a team we all relied on each other, and sticking to the talents each person had was very often the difference between living or dying.”

The young wizard huffs again, suddenly feeling every bit the shy teenager he was not so long ago. “So my talent is babysitting horses?”

Jack admires the angry flush that has settled itself on Dali’s cheeks. “No, Dali, what you are good at is sensing danger and warning me. I only keep that distance between us so that in the event I do get hurt or incapacitated, you will be out of the danger and also able to retrieve help much faster than I could do.”

Dali is stunned. Jack told him that the young wizard had become like a right hand to him, but he misunderstood exactly what Jack was trying to tell him.

“Partner?” Dali whispers, suddenly overcome. When no answer is forthcoming right away, he turns back so that he is studying the faded grass next to him.

Jack doesn’t need Dali to explain his question. “Yes,” he answers simply.

Dali nods and Jack pulls him close, pushing himself up on his toes in order to kiss his lover lightly on the mouth. Dali sighs and leans down slightly and forward so that their foreheads rest together.

“I would like you to explain to me how this disease smells different, though. Would you mind? Maybe it will help us get a grasp on what we are dealing with here.”

“I can do that.” Dali rolls his shoulders as they move away from one another and back into the building. There’s a brand new little ember burning in his chest, a tiny spark so warm that is covers up all the wrong in this place by being everything that is right in his chaotic life right now.

 

“Look, Tessa, I get where you are coming from, I really do. We had one single case of a magical malady and to be honest with you, it was nothing like what we’re seeing here. Mostly, we were dealing with sword injuries, bruises from fist fights and the occasional pregnancy. What you are asking me is…”

Tessa, the only healer left within ten miles of Calum, is a short woman with broad shoulders and a thick head of honey-blonde hair. Her skin is the color of over creamed coffee and her intelligent eyes flash in recognition at Jack playing the ‘not a doctor anymore’ card. Tessa quirks her lips at him then turns to Dali.

“So, you’ve been helping him out all this time? What I can’t understand is how a retired soldier-healer like this one here,” she points at Jack without looking at him, “ends up with a sweet breath of fresh air such as yourself?”

Dali is taken a bit off guard and can’t decide if she just made a pass at him or paid him a compliment. Instead of saying anything, he simply looks over at Jack who is sitting in the hard wooden chair next to his. They are camped out at the table on the stage, still surrounded by stacks of paper, several now full cups of coffee and the noisy generator.

Jack has the audacity to giggle at Tessa’s line. “Sorry, he’s taken.”

She smiles back at him then continues to beg. “Come on, Jack, you are the first healer besides myself that I’ve seen in something like six months. All I’m asking is for a few hours a day, just a little help. Even the ones that won’t let me touch them will like you.”

“Why do you say that?” Jack queries.

“That they’ll let you check them out? Because you seem to have a calm manner about you that I’ve never been able to project.” Tessa answers before taking a sip of her coffee.

Dali wonders where the coffee comes from then really looks hard around the room. The generator is huge and surely runs on fuel. Where is the fuel coming from? An idea bobs around in the ocean of his mind but it is so bizarre he doesn’t let it gather steam.

“No, thanks for the compliment I mean, but I’m asking why wouldn’t they let you touch them? You said you hadn’t seen another healer for well on six months.” Jack states, coffee cup cradled between his fingers.

“Oh, I thought you understood.” Tessa returns.

“Understood what?” Dali pipes up, ignoring his coffee in order to glance over some of the papers on the desk. In some places, the lines are written so closely together he can barely make out the writing, though what he can see appears to be the kind of notes medical staff have always kept about their patients such as vitals and symptoms. In other words, nothing incredibly interesting to him at the moment.

Tessa’s eyes flick from Jack to Dali and hold there. “I thought you understood that magical healers are actually being blamed for what happened here in Calum.”

“This disease?” Jack asks.

“Yes, this disease but there’s more to it.” The pitiful sound of a woman crying out in pain steam rolls any further discussion. “Look, I’ve got to go to her. You said you were staying at the old B and B, right? I’ll be here a few more hours then I’ll come to you. I can whip up a decent meal at any rate and I can get you caught up on the town gossip—such as it is. Okay?”

Jack nods and holds out his hand. Tessa shakes it and heads down the five steps, leaving Jack and Dali alone on the stage.

“I apologize,” Dali says quietly as Jack stands then pushes his chair back to the table. “I’m sorry I underestimated us.”

“It is no problem, love. None at all. Let’s go take a rest, okay? I have a feeling this is going to get interesting.” Jack guides Dali out of the theater with a hand to his elbow.

 

The men check on their horses, making sure their mounts are comfortable with clean water and the hay they’ve been able to scrounge up.

“We are going to have to come up with something better for them,” Jack announces after he’s closed the front door behind them. He leans against it, his mind whirling with all the facts he’s gathered today.

“Hmmm.” Dali hums as he pulls his robes over his head. He stretches the velvety black material out over a three-legged chair in order to air them out. For a few seconds he stands there with the hood of the robes in his hand, slowly rubbing the material between his fingers and contemplating what the next step on their journey should be.

“Are you…” Jack starts around a hangnail he’s chewing on.

Dali frowns at him, tugging at his tunic. He looks down at the shirt and sighs. “We’ve got to find someplace to clean clothes.”

Jack smothers a laugh with his hand. Dali frowns at him some more.

“That isn’t amusing.” Dropping his hands to his side, he steps into Jack’s space.

“Yes it is,” Jack informs him.

Dali crosses his arms over his chest when he stops, leaving only a sliver of space between them. He’s only taller than Jack by about four inches, but sometimes he likes to make a big show of using them.

Jack laughs again. “It is funny and it’s funny because here we are, staying in this tumble-down place that barely fits the definition of ‘a roof over our heads’ and we’ve just been informed that people like us are getting the blame for what’s going on out there,” here he points towards the door with his thumb. “And with all of that, you’re concerned with clean clothes.” He’s laughing so hard now that tears are streaming down his face.

“Yes?” Dali states in a small voice then he takes a closer look at his lover. Certain that there is more to his mirth than Dali’s own need for clean clothes, the young wizard studies him for a moment before he speaks again. “Jack?” This is one of those times when his voice gives away the lack of confidence he’s currently feeling; he abhors it.

Jack’s laughter has petered out some and he is simply standing with his back against the door, gaze on Dali and hands loose at his sides.

“I guess it’s my turn to apologize,” Jack’s voice is slightly scratchy as if he is getting a sore throat.

“Why?” Dali wonders.

Jack gestures at the dusty sitting room filled with half broken-down furniture.

Dali shakes his head. “Where else would I have gone? I couldn’t stay in Lamden, either, Jack. You know it was less safe for me than it was even for you. I said ‘by your side,’ remember?”

The older man nods, exhaling noisily in an attempt to bring his own guilty mind around to the young wizard’s way of thinking. Of course, that just makes it worse. He shakes his head and scratches at the back of his neck. “I can’t help but think it’s not right to ask you to stay. You didn’t sign on for this.”

“Jack I don’t understand the problem. I didn’t sign on for any of this!” Dali shouts as his hands clench into fists. He spins on the heels of his boots and stalks to the other side of the room. “So, what? You want me to leave? Is it because of that healer woman?” The young wizard paces the length of the room then turns back to face his lover.

Now it is Jack’s turn to be confused though he is growing angrier by the second; that accusation actually hurt. Tilting his head to one side, he speaks slowly. “So that’s what you think of me? That I’d get rid of you? To what? Trade you in for something new?” Jack’s voice is almost a growl now. He lowers his head like a bull ready to run something—or someone—through with his horns.

Dali wants to take the words back. A new tension has sprung up between them that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with what he suspects is Jack feeling guilty because he is worried about Dali’s age again.

“Dammit, Jack!” Dali stops in mid-pace, seriously contemplating smacking Jack upside the head for his silly thoughts—or shoving him up against the door and kissing the life out of him. Either thing sounds absolutely delectable at the moment.

The two men wage a staring war for a moment that gives them both a chance to breathe. Dali can feel his heart pounding in his chest; he is already allowing for the possibility that he should be changing and going out through the window in the back room that has a hole in one of the glass panes. If Jack wants him gone, then he will go.

Jack drops his eyes to the floor then his body follows until he is up against it. Dali sees this as passive aggressive, enough to take his guard down but not enough to let him leave.

“Dali, don’t be a fool. I can see what you are thinking. No, I don’t want you gone. I only suggested that Tessa come here to speak with us—you know, you and me, us—because I thought it would be easier for her to discuss the issue without everyone listening in.”

“Right.” Stubbornly refusing to step any closer by unspoken agreement, Dali stops pacing to regard his lover cautiously. “Then, why?” Copying Jack’s movement from earlier, the shape shifter gestures between them.

“If I tell you that I don’t know, will you believe me?” Jack tugs his own forgotten robes over his head. They plop down into a sad little pile beside him.

“No.”

“Why do you say that?” Jack questions from his odd resting spot.

“It’s the same thing I thought you were doing by leaving me behind.” Dali’s pacing begins anew, every step fraught with anxious energy.

Jack is silent for a few moments, mulling over Dali’s statement in his head. “Actually, I think you’re right. In so many ways I do feel responsible for you. It is irrational, all things considered, but there it is.”

Dali stops, and finding himself in front of the fireplace, kneels down and starts the fire with the spell Jack taught him, it seems like so long ago. He remains there, watching the crackling flames but not really seeing them until a rustle behind him announces Jack’s presence. Jack doesn’t touch him, however, simply stands there outside of Dali’s peripheral vision as if he is waiting.

“I’m not very good at this, Jack. I’ve never had anyone…at all, like you. And, this sounds trite, but I don’t think I’ll ever want anyone else.” He turns around, still kneeling then lays his head against Jack’s stomach when the older man steps close but Jack’s arms remain at his sides.

“Jack, listen to me. You aren’t responsible for me. I chose to come with you. I could have changed that night, left Lambden and never looked back…I’ve done it before, it would not have been difficult.

But, realize that the only reason I didn’t was because of you. You’ve always had to be responsible for everyone—your sisters, your team, I don’t doubt even your family—but not me.” Dali takes a deep breath as he wraps his arms around Jack’s waist. The musky, all male smell of him is almost driving the shape shifter crazy but Dali feels like they need to clear the air or things will always be unbalanced between them.

“I want a partner, Jack. I don’t need a parent or a bodyguard.” He rubs his face against Jack’s belly so much the same way the cat would do then inhales deeply.

Jack stays still, not touching but not moving away, either. Until this very moment, he’s never been so back-footed, so off-kilter about his place in the world. He takes a long look around them, at the insane way they’ve been living, on the run but still trying to do some good in the world, then down at the man kneeling at his feet and Jack’s heart shatters.

“I can’t keep apologizing, Dali,” Jack finally utters as if making a royal pronouncement, blue eyes filled with a mixture of both pain and honesty. “I can’t say that I’ll always stop thinking of you that way, but like I said before, I will try.” Agonizingly slowly, he rests his right hand on the top of Dali’s hair, the curls gone wild and tangled. Gently he cards his fingers between them until the young wizard sighs.

“I want to be with you, Jack. I have no control over the outside world.”

Jack nods, moving his fingers in order to press upward against the bottom of Dali’s chin. “Look at me?”

Dali does, capturing every fiber in Jack’s being. He slowly rises to his feet until he stands with his arms around Jack’s waist, Jack’s fingers now cupping the side of his face, his back bowed slightly in only the way that tall people do. This time when their mouths come together, there is more give and take than there’s been before. Dali pushes at Jack, slowly walking forward, until Jack’s knees hit the worn down sofa in the center of the room. Still kissing him, Dali surges towards Jack’s mouth, effectively pressing him down into the couch.

They roll their hips together, panting and each man grabbing a handful of the other’s arse in order to pull themselves even closer. There is nothing between both erections now except thin layers of cloth. Dali presses harder, rolls his hips that much more aggressively, the couch trembles and then there’s a great groan and the furniture’s old wooden legs give way with a bang as the couch hits the floor.

Dali rears back, heart pounding from more than arousal; when he realizes what just happened he turns his eyes towards Jack who is still prone and is laughing like he’s completely lost his mind.

Jack quirks an eyebrow at Dali’s confused expression and manages to stifle his laughter long enough to say, “I think we broke it.”

Jack’s hilarity soon catches and Dali begins to laugh, too, until Jack grabs his face and smashes their mouths back together. This time their grind is slower, sweeter and when it is all said and done, heedless of the quickly cooling mess, they fall asleep right there on the broken couch, Jack lightly snoring and Dali curled with his ear on Jack’s chest in order to better hear the tranquil metronome of his lover’s heart.


	17. P2: Chapter Eighteen

Missy dries her hands on the clean cloth hanging from her apron and looks around the pub approvingly, taking in the warm, dark wood of the walls and furnishings. The low ceiling adds to the charming air of the place. She especially appreciates the soft golden glow of the sconces that decorate the big room, thanks to the huge generator Mr. Sipple keeps for this purpose alone; Missy knows, though, that is also to help keep the ale cool.

It’s been a busy evening, and even though the place is beginning to empty out for the night, business has been rather enjoyable on the whole. Being here and at home seem to be the only places she feels free of the growing overbearing presence of the Cultists, and it is good for her state of mind to be released from that particular stress now and again. There hasn’t been much point in keeping her own business open the past week or so, because all the customers have simply stopped coming since Jack and Dali left. In some ways, she realizes that is probably for the best but she misses the steady work and sea of often familiar faces. Though Justin’s dad, Daniel, is a fair man and a good employer, Missy has to admit to herself that once you’ve worked for yourself, it is difficult to go back to being at someone else’s beck and call, and to follow their ways of doing things. Of course, customer service never really changes no matter if you are selling spirits or spells.

Justin gives her a quick nod and a smile as he passes over a handful of dirty steins and glasses. She takes them, thankful to be pulled from her reverie.

“How is your dad, doing? I haven’t seen you since before you left this morning to check on him and then we’ve been so busy this evening, there’s been no time to talk.” Missy asks, wiping at a small spill on the bar between them, thinking about how Mr. Sipple quite cleverly avoided having the Cultists breathing down his neck by faking a generator break down on the night they attempted to make this pub their regular hang out.

“Actually, I meant to tell you earlier, he is doing well. The black eye has healed at least!” Justin grabs her hands and pulls her over the bar to give her a quick kiss on the lips. A couple of the regulars at a table in the back holler and clap their hands.

Missy blushes, shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Honestly!”

Justin sits down on one of the tall stools, leaning against the bar so he can wave at the regulars. They return the gesture and return to their prior conversation. Three more guests vacate the place, the coins they’ve left as tips glinting in the lights from the ceiling.

“Aw, you know they don’t mean anything by it. Ralph and Terrance have known me most of my life; they’ve been teasing me about finding a ‘partner’ for years. I think they’re just glad to see me happy, you know?”

Missy pats his shoulder, “Of course I do.” She smiles to herself at the cockeyed compliment.

Justin laughs out loud and stretches his legs out in front of him. “How do you think Jack and Dali are getting along? Do you think they’ve made it to Duris yet?”

“No, not yet. Even with horses I think it’s like a seven or eight day ride. Hey, that reminds me,” Missy says, untying her apron and stowing it away in one of the little cubbies beneath the bar, “there were some people in here earlier tonight talking about Duris. Sounds like an odd sort of place.” She walks through the little swinging gate that separates the work area from the serving area then settles down on the stool next to Justin’s, crossing her legs and hooking the heels of her boots on the shiny bar at the bottom.

“What did they say?” Justin asks, scooting over on his seat a little bit to be closer to Missy. He thinks she deserves a little pampering tonight and promises himself that he’s going to ask her to teach him the hot water-making spell.

Missy pushes her hair back off her neck where it is trying to escape from the band she’s wearing. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but I’m not sure of the validity of the story, but here goes. We already know that no one who isn’t magically talented in some way isn’t allowed in the city, right?”

Justin nods, “Yep.” He grins at Ralph and Terrance as the elderly men leave the pub.

“Want I should turn yer sign around fer the night?” The one wearing the vanilla-colored tunic and royal purple breeches calls to Justin.

“Sure, Ralph, I’d appreciate it!” Justin tells him. Ralph flips the sign over the ‘closed’ side, lets Terrance pass out the door first then closes it as unobtrusively as the old, creaky thing can be closed behind them.

“They’re cute,” Missy muses, her eyes lit up.

“One of these days I’ll introduce the three of you. You’ll get a kick out of them. Terrance is a lot like your brother.”

“How do you mean he’s like my brother?” Missy wonders aloud.

Justin stands up, goes behind the bar. He deftly fills two glasses with the red ale he knows Missy likes and brings them back around with him. He takes a long drink and thinks for a moment.

“Well, he’s steady and dependable for starters. He also didn’t get his magick until later in life, and I believe he was a soldier.”

“That’s interesting. I’m assuming the two of them have been together a while, then? The matching outfits kind of give it away.”

Justin giggles, “Yeah, Dad used to give ‘em hell about that, you should see their bright green robes—but once all this other stuff started happening, they’ve taken to dressing alike anyway. They’re decent people, Missy, and you know most people here are, it is really a shame what’s happening here.”

“You know I agree with you,” Missy offers, taking a sip of her ale. She is silent for a few seconds, contemplating the recent changes in her own life. Dabbing at her mouth to wipe off the foam, she picks up the thread of their original conversation. “Anyway, I was telling you what they are saying about Duris. Apparently, it is a gated city and open via ‘invitation only.’”

“That’s odd,” Justin agrees.

“Yeah, I thought that, too. I wish I had a way to get a message to Jack, but I have no way of knowing how far they’ve gotten.” Missy sets her glass on the bar, all interest in her ale lost now.

“Hey, don’t worry about it so much,” Justin says softly, one hand cupping her knee. “Missy, think about this: Jack is a healer, he was a soldier, he’s a damn fine magicker and he’s in the company of one of the quickest-learning shape shifting spellcasters I’ve ever seen. Whatever they are doing, wherever they are, you know they’re alright. Okay?”

Missy nods and takes his hand. “You’re right. Sometimes I miss the days when we were all together, you know.”

“Yes and no,” Justin cracks a grin. “I never really had any other siblings, but there are times I miss my mom.”

Missy caresses the side of Justin’s face, their eyes meeting and holding, each of them seeing a reflection of loss there as well as the ability to hold fast and tight to what they have now. “I’d love to hear all about her.”

Justin looks away towards the back of the pub for a moment, then lets his gaze fall back to Missy. “One day, I’ll tell you some stories. The two of you would have gotten along fabulously. Come on,” he says, patting her leg, “let’s get out of here for a few hours.” His hand strays up her thigh and Missy grabs it.

“Tease,” she says mock-sternly.

“Of course,” Justin answers, standing up.

 

 

Jack dreams while he rests; the feeling of his lover draped over his body is protective rather than cloistering. His dreams are almost shapeless, mist covered things that seem to serve no real purpose. As his blood pressure begins to drop and his breathing evens out, one clear question percolates through the timeless pictures and disconnected emotions: how much time? He ponders this thought as he sleeps and a sudden worry takes shape in his mind that he’s going to lose the person who means the most to him.

Simultaneously with the knock on the door, Jack sits up and almost pushes Dali off of him and into the floor, post-coital glow promptly turning into a fight and protect response.

“Jack, it’s just Tessa, she said she was coming.” Dali states as he grips the flat cushion in order to keep himself from being launched.

“Shhh!” Jack hisses, but it is too late. He already senses what’s behind door number one and he’s in the process of pulling on his breeches when Tessa calls through the locked door in a calm, deceptively kindly tone.

“Jack? Jack are you here? Your horses are still outside, so you must be in.”

“What is going on?” Dali pitches his voice low.

Jack begins to mouth _it’s a trap_ , though he is unable to finish the thought as the lock on the door gives way and it crashes against the floor with a hollow thud.

Tessa is backlit by the dying sun, surrounded by a halo of scarlet light from the horizon. It is almost as if she’s is on fire.

“Dali, change!” Jack shouts as he rushes towards Tessa.

Dali obeys and follows on Jack’s heels then leaps from the floor onto Tessa’s chest, creating enough of a distraction that Jack gets outside. As soon as he sees Jack is out of the old B and B, Dali whips a paw across Tessa’s face, claws extended, drawing blood. Tessa grabs at her face, trying in vain to catch the black cat.

Jack is already mounted on Dusty when Dali comes flying out the front door.

“Come on!” Jack shouts, kneeing Dusty into a canter. As he passes the cat, he athletically swings himself down, holding onto the horse only with his knees and calves and grabs Dali from the ground. The cat lets out a bloodcurdling screech as one of his hind legs is pinned awkwardly in Jack’s arms.

Jack turns the gelding using only his legs; the reins are bouncing loose on Dusty’s neck. He gets close enough to the small stable to open the mare’s stall door and then they are plunging into the growing twilight, a man with a cat in his arms riding bareback hell bent to put some space between them and the sick village of Calum.

 

Jack keeps Dusty running full tilt until they are so deep into the woods the horse must walk or risk falling with them altogether. He relaxes his thighs and leans back on Dusty a little, cradling the cat against his chest. Dali meows pitifully.

“I know, Dali, I’m sorry. I was so curious about what was happening, I didn’t pay attention to what she was saying.” Dusty’s ears swivel back and forth as Jack talks, all the animals listening to every word but unable to respond. “She said it a couple of different times to me ‘they believe magickers did this to them’ and I didn’t listen! I should have asked her how it was that she was allowed to treat them, but it never even occurred to me after her compliments.” After that, he is silent for a while until he draws the horse to a complete stop.

Sitting the cat down on Dusty’s broad back, Jack dismounts effortlessly, bare feet thudding lightly on the sandy ground.

“I am going to try Missy’s old spell and see if I can at least recall our robes. I need to be able to speak to you properly.” With that, Jack closes his eyes and does his best to imagine their robes and clothes. The dark forest around them is anything but silent, making it more difficult to concentrate that he would have believed possible.

A slight vibration in the air and a shimmery arch begins to appear, though Jack doesn’t see it because his eyes are still closed. Dali’s cat eyes can see beyond the arch, however, and it appears that Jack’s spell is working, that it may only need a bit of boost. The cat leaps down to land softly on his wide paws; he changes and steps to Jack’s side in order to help with the spell.

As always, their combined strength causes the spell of the scope to widen, until the shimmery arch encompasses not only both men but also the horses; it draws some energy from the trees and other plants around them as well. In fifteen seconds, a small pile of clothing appears on the ground in front of them.

“We did it!” Jack crows, patting Dali on the back. He starts towards the clothing then stops to regard his lover. “You’re naked.”

Dali raises an eyebrow at him as if to tell him how wise and observant he is, then he shrugs. “I can only keep my clothes if they are nearby. I’ve watched Missy do that spell a hundred times and that was her only rule—you know, the reason we had to bring the Yuletide tree so far before she could recall it to the house.” Dali nods towards the pile.

“Yeah, that’s what she’s told me, too.” Jack hands Dali his black robes and breeches. Their tunics did not appear, but at least they both have their boots. Jack slips his boots on then shrugs into a set of chocolate brown robes that he doesn’t recognize. Gesturing down at the unfamiliar clothing, he asks, “Where do you suppose these came from?”

Dali shrugs. “Probably from the cupboard behind the staircase in the B and B. I couldn’t exactly remember where your robes ended up, but I did see those earlier.”

Jack sets to turning back the ends of the sleeves, making neat cuffs. He chuckles, “Beggars certainly can’t be choosers. I’ll take anything over riding through the forest in the buff. Some of us don’t have the choice of a fur coat, mind you.”

Dali huffs out a laugh, watching Jack get dressed. The mare comes up behind him, resting her jaw against his shoulder and nickering softly. Dusty answers her with a snort and Dali strokes her face.

“What are we going to do now?”

Jack regards him for a few seconds. “I don’t have any real ideas. It is too dark to get my bearings tonight, but I want to keep heading up the coast. I think our best hope is to get to the town those young people told us about, Duris?”

“Yes, that’s what they called it.” Dali agrees, fondling the mare’s silky forelock between his long fingers.

“Do I need to apologize again?” Jack asks, moving in front of Dali.

Dali shakes his head. “No. This time it was different. You _felt_ the danger and I was able to do my part.”

“You did, and beautifully, I might add.” Jack raises up on his toes in order to kiss the tip of Dali’s nose.

“Partners.” Dali states solemnly.

“Yes,” Jack answers, kissing his lips this time. They embrace until they start to feel the night chill. “Well, we don’t exactly have a tent…” Jack leans down and picks a twig up then snaps his fingers at the end of it, bringing a small flame to life. He holds it over their heads and scans the area.

“I’ve got an idea.” Dali states.

“Go on, I’m listening.” Jack continues to look around, taking small steps forward then back to Dali.

“There were more sets of robes in that cupboard, if that will do for tonight?” The young wizard offers.

“Alright, what do we have to lose?”

“A lot of sleep,” Dali quips.

Jack grins at him and grasps his hands. “Let’s try it this way this time.” He blows out the makeshift torch and drops it at his feet.

Dali doesn’t answer, but closes his eyes and mentally goes back into the B and B, then to the cupboard. Their spell works even faster this time, and before they know it, they have a pile of old, brown robes in front of them. Jack starts to move away, break the spell, but Dali holds his hands fast.

“Hold on,” he offers, “we need a fire.”

In the same amount of time, the two of them manage to call enough twigs and sticks and even a couple of pieces of reasonably sized logs to build a fire. Jack starts the flames while Dali moves to the horses in order to remove their bridles. They spread several of the robes on the ground to lie on and keep the rest to pull over themselves. Tangled together beneath the thick material, they generate enough body heat between them to pass the night in relative comfort.

 


	18. P2: Chapter Nineteen

Missy wakes first, her slumbering consciousness brought to life by a soft kiss on her cheek. Justin balances over her on his palms, narrow hips pressing down on hers; when he rolls his pelvis, she gasps and wraps her legs around his waist, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his hot erection rubbing against her.

“Mmm… that’s nice.”

“I thought so, too,” Justin says against the side of her neck, a shock of humid breath against the sensitive skin there right before a soft kiss.

The laugh that is on the tip of her tongue becomes a shared exhale when Justin slowly licks his way up to her mouth. He stays balanced over her until the heat between them is almost overwhelming.

“Justin, love, you aren’t going to hurt me,” Missy murmurs.

“Hmm…I don’t know, you’re the older one, maybe I should worry about you hurting me.” Justin croons, rubbing his nose gently over hers.

“Oh yeah?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow at him. “As if that four years make that much difference.”

“Yes,” he says, nipping at her ear.

“Maybe in _dog’s years_ ,” she giggles and playfully swats his bare rump.

Missy waits until his weight is finally on her, wraps her arms around his shoulders and flips them over so that Justin is on his back.

“Damn,” he grins at the joke, “Let me be your love slave,” Justin allows, somehow sounding completely serious and ridiculously hilarious at the same time.

“Alright,” Missy agrees, leaning over him so that he can take one nipple in his mouth. He lets go after a thorough taste and she leans back so that she is behind his erection, enough that he can feel her own heat but not enough that he can buck into her.

“What do you want, you beautiful thing?” Justin asks, resting his hands on her hips.

Instead of answering, Missy deftly strokes him with a teasing touch that is not quite the friction he desires. “I want you,” she tells him, her eyes smoldering.

“I’m all…yours,” he gasps as she raises up on her thighs and guides him into her. She rolls her hips now and he does his best to hold back until her climax causes him to lose some of his control and they wind up with Justin bucking up into Missy and almost sitting up straight.

They finally wind up breathless and smiling at another.

“Wow, for an old dog, you sure keep up with me,” Missy laughs into Justin’s chest.

He shakes his head and huffs, letting his fingers comb through her long, brown hair. “I don’t know what to say to that, so I’ll just say you give me plenty of reasons,” he laughs. A comfortable quiet falls over them as they listen to their hearts beating in tandem and the sounds of the world outside leaving them alone to enjoy some peace for a time.

 

 

Dali is yanked into wakefulness by a cold, wet, and sloppy horse kiss. “Ugh,” he groans. Beside him, Jack mutters something less than half-way understandable then rolls over and presses his face against Dali’s side.

The grey mare, who is still nameless, Dali reflects, gazes down at him with her inquisitively big brown eyes. Somewhere behind her, Dusty snorts and Dali can clearly hear the flick of a tail and stamp of a hoof. He pokes at Jack.

“They’re hungry.”

“Can’t hear you. Sleeping.” Jack informs him as he does his level best to yank some of the robes back over his head.

Dali pokes him again. “I think they are contemplating eating us.”

Jack rolls his eyes and huffs then sits up and tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes. As soon as one of them found a comfortable position last night, the other one would move, so, taken in addition to the hard, cold ground, Jack feels like he hasn’t slept in a week-or been run over by a steamship, one or the other. He scratches at his chest through his tunic then the back of his neck. The grey mare snorts her irritation at the great lack of breakfast happening.

Jack sticks his tongue out at the horse, feeling trite. “Horses don’t eat people.” The mare snorts again, stamps her front hoof then shakes her neck at them and turns around, obviously showing them her hindquarters.

Dali sniggers. “That’s pretty funny, Jack.” He takes a long look around them, noting that it seems as if they were alone all night and stayed that way. “Any ideas on what do with all of these?” He asks, pointing at the robes.

“I don’t care,” Jack yawns. “Burn them, cut them up, or feed them to the horses…” Another jaw cracking yawn punctuates the statement; when it is over, he shrugs.

“Well, I was thinking that I really don’t want to ride out with nothing between my bits and the horse but these breeches, so what about folding them up and making pads out of them? I don’t really see it that we have much else to do today.”

“No,” Jack agrees, “There isn’t much else on the agenda.” He stands up and begins gathering some of the robes, shaking them and folding them into a thick, rectangular pad as he goes. “Next time, though, I’m trusting your intuition, Dali.”

Dali frowns at Jack’s sudden serious tone and looks over his shoulder from where he’s flattening a set of the robes over the mare’s strong back. “I never said anything, Jack, you know I follow your lead.”

“Right, but isn’t that exactly what we’ve been talking about? I could tell you didn’t like the idea of staying here, so that means that part of you that I trust to look out for danger while I’m checking out a tumble down building or talking to strangers…that means I took that for granted this time. I can’t say for sure if I would have listened had you said anything. So, really, I’m eating crow here, and once again, I apologize.”

Dali regards the homemade saddle pad as if it is the most interesting thing in the world right then, brushing over it with his hands more than is strictly necessary or needed. Jack stays quiet, leading Dusty over to a stump in order to clamber up onto his back.

“Apology accepted,” Dali informs his partner as he plants his palms on the horse, one each on her withers and the other holds the pad to keep it from slipping. He bends his knees then gracefully jumps upwards, swings his leg over and sits down as light as a feather. The mare waits for his command to move forward; when it comes she prances prettily right in front of Jack, almost smacking Dusty in the face with her high held tail.

Dali laughs at the horse’s antics as they make their way towards the far tree line, glad to be putting some distance between themselves and Calum.

 

“What do you make of it, then?” Dali questions a few hours later. They are meandering down a flat trail running next to a slowly burbling stream; both men agreed it is best to keep to the tree line in order to avoid any inconvenient attention.

Jack tilts his head to stare over Dusty’s ears for a moment. “I feel like Old Bill sent us in Tessa’s direction in attempt to pull one over on us. I’m not sure what Tessa had in mind but I’m equally sure I don’t think we would have enjoyed it much.”

Dali grunts, unsure what to say. “None of it makes any sense,” he mutters in time with the mare’s hoof beats against the hard dirt of the trail.

“I don’t either, but I wish I did. We need to get somewhere where can pick up some information about what’s happening out there.” Jack gestures towards the trees.

Dali understands; he’s got a question burning in his mind, an idea that popped up last night and he wants to ask. “Jack…” he starts.

“Yeah?” Jack answers, tightening his thighs as a suggestion for Dusty to move forward some.

The young wizard huffs and slouches.

“What?!” Jack’s voice breaks with exasperation.

“Jack, is there some reason people would intentionally go after your family or you, in general? That’s some kind of longshot, I’ve no doubt, but still…”

Dali closes his mouth quickly when he glances at his lover.

Jack sighs, “Oddly enough, that thought had occurred to me as well. I guess I started thinking about it after Harry…but until today, I’ve not really had time to sit and consider what it all meant.”

Dali looks away from Jack, amber eyes watching the trail ahead of them.

“Let me tell you about how Da died since we have the time. You can tell me what you think, then.”

“Alright,” Dali agrees, settling into as comfortable a position as he can get into while Jack begins to spin his yarn.

 

It is Jack Weston’s twenty-first summer and he has completed his first year of military service. He is mopping the wooden floor of the mess hall and taking his time about it because the heat even this early on in the season is almost unbearable. The Middle Asian Army has finally been pushed back beyond the borders of the old Northern Territory and it seems as if the war is taking a turn for the better. Apparently the officers all stationed here decided last night was a night to celebrate, and they did—most of the night.

So that means that he’s here at eight o’clock on a Friday morning, doing his bit. Of course, he could have been here doing the same thing last night; instead he was stretched out in his bunk reading an autobiography of Casey Mitchell, the woman who single-handedly changed the world of magickers when she discovered that not everyone is born with their talents, occasionally those talents appear at times of great distress or joy.

Jack purses his lips together and shakes his head, still going over some of Ms. Mitchell’s advice: watch, wonder, and wait. The three “W’s.” He figures that he’s probably aged out now, past the time of life when other people have developed their hidden talents. He empties out the dirty water and carries the bucket to the pump outside the mess hall in order to refill it.

Sandy soil and dead grass crunch beneath his boots, a strange crane-like bird calls from overhead and the sound of some of the soldiers still in their tents carries to his ears. It is a familiar, if not beloved, atmosphere that at the same time conjures up visions of home as much as it has replaced them.

“Hey, Weston, how’s it hanging?” Sergeant Andy Ritter calls out to Jack as he passes by on his way to the showers. He’s a short, broad bloke with wide shoulders and muscles carved by a god that sure loved him. Right now he’s shirtless, his lightly-tanned skin littered with freckles and his short cropped ginger hair standing up in little spikes all over his head.

Jack gives the Anglo-Ameranadian soldier a smile then pretends to adjust the crotch of his fatigues. “A little to the left, I’d say.”

Andy grins back at him, laughing boyishly and waves as he walks past. Jack looks around, surprised at the rather telling lack of action around the whole place this morning. He swipes at his sweaty forehead then wipes his palms against his camel colored T-shirt and returns to his chores with a bit more spring in his step as it appears that once this job is completed, he’s done for the day.

Whistling to himself, Jack swishes the mop over the wood, glad he was lucky enough to come in on the tail end of the partying, rather than being the first one in this morning. He can only imagine what a mess this place was then. He pushes one of the long tables littering the place out of the way in order to lean down and pluck someone’s dog tags off the floor. Well, whoever Staff Sergeant Yount is, they are going to be in some serious shit, Jack thinks as he flips them over in his hand to read who their owner may be. He stuffs them into his pocket and continues cleaning.

Pale golden light pours through the high windows of the mess hall. He goes outside and dumps the bucket again, then leaves it and the bucket by the door, deciding that he will pick them up again after he visits the kitchen to see if there’s anything available he can grab for a quick breakfast. Scanning the steam table gets him nowhere so he gives up and goes back to his tent to feast on the remainder of a box of treats sent by his family a couple of weeks ago.

Jack is sitting on his bunk, the opened box beside him for easy access and an old book in his hand. He is taking a long drink from his water bottle when a knock sounds at his door.

“Weston? You in?” Corporeal Erin Jenkins sticks her head in through the door and beams at him, her short blonde hair practically sparkling in the sunlight. She’s out of uniform today, dressed in a pair of khaki shorts, a red T-shirt and sandals.

“Yeah, I’m here. This place sure is desolate today, eh?” Jack jokes, accepting a small envelope from her.

“Apparently, you, me, Andy and one or two others missed a pretty smashing party last night,” Jenkins informs him, raising an eyebrow in his direction. “Got some good news there, then?”

Jack shrugs, grinning at her knowing wink. “Naw, probably just Mum’s complaining about my older sister, Harry.”

“Fun!” Jenkins says, smacking the side of the doorway with her palm. “You need anything else or you all set here?”

“I’m good, thanks!” Jack returns her wave as she strides back out into the sunlight. He runs his fingers beneath the flap of the envelope; once it’s open he checks for the post-date, discovering that the letter had been mailed a week earlier.

He chews casually on a chocolate biscuit as he begins the letter. By the time he reaches the end of the single sheet penned carefully by his nineteen year old sister, Missy, there are tears falling down his face. He knows he should have been there; for the moment he feels the most selfish he’s ever felt in his life for going out and living his life. He should have been there for them!

Jack stands up from his bunk, his book and the box of treats go flying. He destroys his bed, crying and cursing his luck at being an entire world away from his family when they needed him most. His rage spends quickly; he drops down onto the hard floor and stares at the letter, fighting himself to not crumple it up right then and there—maybe if he just forgets about it…but that can never be. How can one ignore the fact that both of his parents died within minutes of each other on the same night from the same ravaging fever while in the care of their youngest daughter?

 

 

“Damn,” Dali murmurs. They have stopped their horses in the center of the stream in order to let the animals drink. He regards Jack for a bit, his heart breaking for his lover.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, his voice rough with remembered grief. “That was the first time I wanted to throttle Harry. While Missy, our little baby sister Missy, was running herself ragged caring for our sick parents and I was in New Australia, Harry was out shooting up, drinking down and probably sleeping around.”

Dali shakes his head; the mare looks up from her drink, over her withers, as if to ask him what the problem is. He gives her a little nudge and she picks her feet up gingerly as she walks back to the trail. Dusty follows with Jack and Dali takes his Jack’s stricken expression. The young wizard wants to apologize, though he really doesn’t know exactly why or what for.

Jack regards him for a time as they begin moving again. When the trail widens some, he rides up beside Dali and reaches out to catch his arm. “There’s nothing anyone can say, not really.” He takes his hand back, slowing Dusty down to a flat-footed walk in order to stay beside Dali; Jack’s steel blue gaze moves from Dali’s face to the mare then back out to the horizon. He licks his lips, considering his words because he doesn’t want to be thought to be a cold man, yet truth is truth.

“I was messed up for a while after that. Not that I blamed Missy, or Harry, really, far from it. In a large part, I blamed myself for not being there—and really, not being able to _get_ there made it all that much worse. I am ashamed to say that when I came home this past year, that it was only the second time I’d be home at all through both my full tours of duty.”

Dali merely nods, content to let Jack carry out the conversation that feels an awful lot like a confession. He watches Jack’s face in the sunlight dappled by the thin green leaves overhead.

“Strangely, it was during that time that I really did discover my latent powers, apparently I am one of the people Ms. Mitchell talked about in her book and the strength of whatever was going on in my head then brought them out of me.” Jack pauses, pulls Dusty to a stop.

Dali follows suit until they are standing there in the middle of the trail, their backs towards the way they have come, the familiar trail, while their faces towards where they are going, a complete unknown. Tiny birds call from the high trees into a silence that Dali wants to hold onto; he knows that Jack is now going to tell him the story of the cursed spells and a tiny part of him, only a tiny part, doesn’t really want to hear it.

“I became more selfish than I had ever been in my life after that. Somehow, at one of the weekly card games and imbibing nights, I fell in with some other soldiers whose names are unimportant. They taught me a few of the darker spells.”

“Like Anthony?” Dali’s voice cracks though he can longer hold in the question.

“Yeah, like Anthony.” Jack regards him warily, waiting to see if he’s going to be told to get the hell out of dodge. When Dali makes no remarks and no movements other than a slight tilt of his head, Jack continues: “Only, in my defense, I can at least say that I never went that far. The only silver lining of that particular black cloud was that I knew how the spells were done, so I was able to treat them better than other medics. Once I was promoted into the medical ranks, I stopped doing those spells.”

Jack’s voice is pleading and Dali doesn’t like it to sound that way except when they are intimate and driving each other crazy; that’s pleasure, though, and this is pain and he wants to put an immediate stop to it.

“Jack, what I said before, I still mean it.” He grasps Jack’s forearm with one hand, his hold tight enough to punctuate his statement.

Jack regards his lover’s amber eyes, fiercely honest expression and tense posture and lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thank you,” he says, carefully framing his words so that they both understand he means for more than simply listening to stories about his family.

Dali’s smile is as radiant as the mellow sunlight surrounding them. “You’re welcome,” he tells Jack as a mischievous glint appears in his eyes. “Let’s go for a run and see how well you ride, old man!”

On the tail-end of a ridiculous giggle, Dali leans down over the mare’s neck and positively roars as he throws his rear into the air and squeezes his thighs. The mare pins her ears and jumps away from Dusty, her hooves thudding in an even cadence down the trail.

Jack shakes his head, slightly taken off guard at the gorgeous sight in front of him then does the mature, responsible thing and grabs two handfuls of mane, clucks his tongue at Dusty and heads into the mud and pebbles Dali’s mare has kicked up in her wake.

It takes almost no time at all for Dusty to catch up with the grey mare, as both men keep their horses at a fine, rolling canter on the trail. As soon as the trail opens up into a tree-ringed field, however, Dali turns in his seat, smirks at Jack impishly then practically lays down on the mare’s back and lets her run.

Jack pulls Dusty up, his legs sore from trying not to lose the robes beneath him. Dali and the mare do several circuits of the field, Dali laughing and carrying on like a fiend the entire time. Jack knows well the feeling of needing to run off all that heavy emotion and wishes he weren’t so tired to try it himself; it is only sometimes that the nine years that separate the two of them make themselves known in such a fashion and this is one of those times. His shoulder, however healed it may be, will always be weak and Dusty pulls at him enough on their normal rides; there’s no telling what the smart gelding would do if Jack let him have his head that way.

But it is so worth it, oh so worth watching from the sidelines when Dali vaults from the mare in mid-stride, landing gracefully on his feet and stretching his arms up high and wide. For an instant, but only an instant, Jack’s heart hammers in his chest as the mare keeps running then hops into the air in a perfect rear, her front legs pawing at the air and seeming to miss Dali’s arms by mere inches.

Dali, still laughing like a loon, turns his back on the horse and sprints across the field. She seems perplexed for a moment, then shakes her mane and follows him, reins bouncing on her neck. Jack thinks that the two of them together are fey things, otherworldly in their natural beauty and his heart breaks a little more until Dali turns around again, spinning on his heels then stops completely and gives Jack a wave, his laughter traveling as if by magick across the clearing to settle softly against to Jack’s ears.

In truth, Jack doesn’t think he’s ever been this in love in his entire life, even if he finds it difficult to admit sometimes, he wouldn’t trade a single safe night in Lambden for all the insanity that has followed them since they left. Who could? With that curly-haired imp now dancing as if caught in some hedonistic spell, his hips gyrating madly and his horse staring and snorting at him as if he’s off his rockers?

“Come on, Jack!” Dali calls out, arms spread out wide from his body. When he rushes towards Jack and Dusty only to fall down on his back giggling and pretending to make snow angels, Jack knows he’s lost so he clambers down off his horse and joins his lover down in the thick, velvety grass and wonders how he managed to get so lucky to share the world with this incredible being.


	19. P2: Chapter Twenty

Night falls, bringing a hush to the world for a short time. They carry on until they are both too exhausted to ride any longer and it is too dark for further exploration to remain in the realm of respective safety. They form what little bit of camp they are able and Jack settles down to rest.

Dali is restless, unable to stay in one place longer than a few minutes at a time.

“You need to go exploring.” Jack pipes up from where he’s buried himself beneath the robes that are serving as tonight’s blankets.

Dali shakes his head, torn between admitting to that truth and leaving Jack alone. “I do, but I need to be here.”

“Dali, I am a grown man, remember? You’re starting to get as bad as me.” Jack huffs and rolls over on his side, fully intending to go to sleep. “Besides, the horses are here, too, they’ll let me know if anyone approaches.”

Dali paces in a small circle and Jack catches the slight shimmering aura that always surrounds the young wizard prior to shifting. If Dali’s human form had a tail, he would certainly be swishing it in the air behind him in an annoyed, caged tiger type of way.

“Go on. Besides it will be easier for you to go out towards the road and see how much farther we’ve got to ride before we reach Duris.” Dali wrinkles his nose but he’s stopped pacing, so Jack is fairly sure he’s convinced the shape shifter to do what he needs to do in order to keep himself healthy. “I’m just going to sleep.” Jack pats the pile of robes.

Finally, after attempting to stare some sense into Jack, Dali nods his head and, without another word, shifts into his feline alter. He stays still for a moment, regarding Jack with glowing eyes then he blinks and turns and trots off into the trees, inky black fur melding with the deepening twilight. Jack stretches out against the ground and stares at the stars overhead before closing his eyes.

 

“Where’s the cat?”

A deep, gruff voice wakes Jack in the grey darkness before sunrise. Someone is pulling him by his shoulders in order to sit him up and it is only then that he realizes his hands are pinned behind his back. He struggles and tries to cry out but he can’t really tell which way is up because he is dizzy and when he opens his eyes in an attempt to orient himself, everything is much darker than it should be. Jack takes a deep breath in with his mouth only to discover that there is some sort of material blocking the inhale.

A nice way to wake up: with a sack over one’s head. He tries to call Dali’s name; the only sound that comes out of him is a wheezing whimper. From his left comes the spitting and hissing of a very pissed off cat.

“Ow! He got me!” A second male voice shouts. The cat growls. Jack makes another attempt to call out to the shape shifter.

It’s no use, though, because he is being forced to his feet and there’s something hard and pointy sticking in his back. Dali has gone quiet and for a few seconds, Jack worries that their kidnappers have done something to him.

His fears are soon wiped away when the first man starts talking again.

“Put him on the gelding. The little mare looks fast, I’ll take her with me. Have you got the cat?”

“Yes, sir,” the second man answers.

“Good, hang him on my saddle and help me get this one up there.” Gruff voice orders.

“Yes, sir. How the hell do you think they’ve ridden so far, hain’t neither horse got a saddle. Lookit this.”

Jack can feel the heat from Dusty’s side. He knows it is Dusty because the horse sniffed the top of his head as is his habit when Jack first wakes up. Behind him, he can hear what sounds like someone picking up the pile of robes from the ground.

“Gods, these are some old robes. Should we bring ‘em, too?”

Heavy footsteps then a dramatically loud sniff. “Eh, no. Leave those. We just need the healer and the shape shifter. The horses are a nice bonus, but it looks like they’ve been living rough.”

The second man sniggers childishly.

“Oh give it up, who the hell cares _what_ they are doing out here. All Inara cares about is _why_ they are out here.” Gruff’s voice is louder now and Jack is suddenly lifted off his feet and dropped down onto what he presumes is Dusty’s back. He’s still disoriented until one of the men unties his hands only to retie them in front of him.

“You may think this unwise, but I’d rather you’re able to grab a handful of mane and hang on. I don’t have an extra saddle and you are simply worth too much to bring in injured. Nod if you understand me.”

Jack nods in the general direction of what he hopes is the man talking to him.

“Here,” Gruff voices states as he tugs on Jack’s fingers until Jack grasps the thick mane Dusty has growing over his withers. “Good. Let’s get a move on.”

As they start off, Jack counts hoofbeats. When he gets to a dozen, he’s satisfied that their kidnappers haven’t done anything untoward to the horses. Somewhere ahead of him, he can hear Dali spit and growl.

“Easy kitty, we’ll be there in a couple of hours. Don’t get any ideas about trying to shift in that bag, it is enchanted. You won’t like what happens if you do.” The growling and hissing stops.

Jack leans forward in order to balance himself without the use of his eyes and does his best to be the model prisoner, hoping that if they see he is cooperating, maybe they will take the bag off his head.

 

Jack figures it has been about two hours when they all stop. Gruff calls out and there’s an answering call to him from someone that sounds as if they are a level or so above them; other sounds come to him, as muffled as they are, and Jack guesses that they are entering through some sort of city gate. The hoof beat sounds change from the soft thud of horses walking on a trail to the more echoing thud of hard-packed dirt such as is found on a well-travelled roadway. Jack is uncomfortable, but his biggest worry at the moment is not so much himself as it is Dali.

When Dusty stops suddenly, it takes all of Jack’s willpower and the remaining strength in his numb fingers to keep from being thrown over the gelding’s neck. The hands that help him down are gentler this time and when his boot soles are on solid ground he sighs then chokes on the material.

“Good Lords in the Cosmos, Adan what have you done? The poor man cannot breathe!”

“I apologize, ma’am.” Adan of the gruff voice states and then Jack is blinded for a few moments when the sack is pulled rather unceremoniously off his head.

“Thank you,” the woman tells him. Jack does not detect any trace of anything in her voice other than a slight bit of irritation.

Jack has no time to try and look around because there’s a bit of a shove at his back and he finds himself marching towards an unknown destination. What he can see, however, is that they are walking down a long corridor that seems as if someone has bathed it in a warm, golden light. He blinks several times in order to look at the high, vaulted ceiling that appears to have been painted to resemble a forest canopy. In front of him is a set of broad shoulders covered by a slate blue tunic. This must be Adan, which leaves the second man to be the other set of footsteps he can hear right behind him.

Jack clears his throat. “Is Dali alright?” he queries in his best _I’m a good prisoner_ voice. Of course he didn’t even know he had that voice, but he’s got it now and intends to use it to its full potential. No one answers him, so he looks over his shoulder at the man taking up the rear of their little party.

“Eyes front!” Snaps a smaller man with a black beard and a head of thick, black hair. There’s a set of angry red welts down the side of his face that perfectly match Dali’s six clawed front paws. He is carrying a large sack over his shoulder and Jack is sure that it contains a cat shaped object. From the quick look Jack gets, the object certainly appears to be breathing.

Jack doesn’t answer, merely turns his head to stare at the brick wall of a man in front of him. He wonders vaguely where the woman that he heard speaking earlier has gone to.

They finally draw to a halt in front of an enormously regal set of carved wooden doors that are covered from top to bottom in gold leaf. Jack makes out a horse, a cat, several birds, a huge whale and a snake that twines up the border of the door on the left side.

Someone knocks at the doors and they are opened up from the inside. What Jack sees beyond the threshold almost makes his knees buckle for the shock of it.

The same softly shimmering gold light that permeates through the corridor obviously begins here. Jack is led down the center of a vast, rectangular room. In front of him is a row of floor-to-ceiling windows and to either side are tables set up for what could be a huge dinner party or possibly a celebration. The tables are set formally with linen covers and napkins; the silverware that he catches glimpses of appears to be exactly that: real silver.

Burgundy drapes decorate the walls; the windows are done in a similar fashion yet they are standing uncovered in order to allow the sun’s rays to join in whatever function is happening here. Jack takes note of several young women carrying trays between the tables before he is pushed to his knees.

“Be respectful.” Adan warns him as he steps away, barking a quick order to the other man and snapping his fingers to emphasize his desire to be obeyed. “Leo, the cat.”

The second man steps forward and sits the sack on the floor next to Jack. When he leans down, his hair falls into his eyes and he brushes it away as he unties the rope he’s got wound around the top of the bag. Jack eyes the man carefully and decides that he is really no threat, so he pushes him away and opens the bag to see for himself.

Dali is, without a shred of doubt, quite angry. The cat is about ready to take out someone’s eyes when he stops mid-pounce and sits down at the bottom of the bag on his haunches.

“Dali, are you alright?” Naturally, the cat doesn’t answer but he does blink at Jack, his amber eyes as dark as chocolate in the shadows of the bag. “Come on out.” Jack ignores everyone else in order to ensure his lover’s comfort. He leans back without letting go of the sack and Dali leaps out of it to stand beside Jack, his back arched and fur standing on end.

“Shape shifter Dali, you may stand down. Healer Jack Weston, it is good to meet you. Adan, Leo, you may leave us. Thank you and go in peace the rest of your day. You have done well.”

Jack’s attention is torn from Dali to the stately woman who has just entered the room from a side door beyond the tables to his left that he didn’t see before. She strides through the sunlight and it catches in tiny starbursts in the gold thread that borders the sleeves and hem of her heavy, scarlet robes. He is pretty sure his jaw is hanging open and his wits have gone to new territories quite unknown to his conscious mind. Along with the impression that she certainly knows more about them than they know about her, the knowledgeable expression on her face when she turns her pale blue eyes in Dali’s direction makes him believe that there is a strong possibility Dali just might know who she is.

Jack hates being the most ignorant person in the room and there is no doubt that he is that right about now.

“Ma’am,” Jack states and sketches out the sort of bow that he would generally be embarrassed about if his grumbling stomach didn’t do it for him first. She smiles down at him gently and he notes she’s about five inches taller than even Dali when she holds out a hand towards him.

“It is so good to finally meet you, Healer Weston.” Instead of shaking his hand, she lets their palms rest together and covers the back of his hand with her right one. Jack takes in the slender wrist and long, dainty fingers.

In a few seconds, there’s a bit of a flare of light from where their skin touches and when she raises her right hand, a smoky copy of the ribbon-like spell that showed up between Dali and himself a few days ago dances for a moment on an unseen current of air then evaporates as quickly as it appeared.

“Ah,” the woman says, nodding her head.

She turns to Dali, then, who is still sitting on haunches on the floor with his ears pinned to his head. His teeth are not quite bared, but his pupils have narrowed into tiny slits against the round, amber irises.

“Go on, please,” she urges in a kind voice like a mother would use to encourage her offspring to show off their most recently gained skill. The woman tilts her head a little to the side, pulls up on the long skirt of her dress and curtsies.

Jack frowns, once again feeling slightly like everyone in the room knows what is happening except for him.

Dali looks up at Jack, blinks and changes. A pink flush paints Jack’s cheeks when he is suddenly look at a very nude shape shifter.

“Dali?” Jack asks.

Dali grins a cheeky little grin then drops into a beautiful bow. Jack stares as the woman raises both hands and conjures a set of plush royal purple robes out of the ether.

After the beautiful set of robes settle on Dali’s shoulders, the woman claps her hands together as if knocking off dust.

“Well, now that we are all decent, would you two like a bite to eat? You both look as if you’ve missed a few meals the past week or so.” She tells them with a cock of an eyebrow.

They follow her across the floor to one of the tables where, with another flick of the wrist, she pulls a trio of chairs out for all of them. As if summoned without a word being spoken, a server comes from the back and asks what they would have to drink. Jack chooses the honey ale, Dali takes hot tea and the woman decides on a glass of Durisian blush, a wine that Jack has heard of but never tasted.

The server leaves and a slightly uncomfortable silence falls among them.

“I guess I should introduce myself. I am Inara, though my official title here in Duris is Lady Mage.”

Jack nods, accepting the information but something flashes on Dali’s face that makes him pause. “Do you know her?”

“Indeed, I know _of_ her, Jack.”

“Do tell.” Inara purrs gently before taking a sip of the wine the server has just set on the table, blue eyes flashing at them over the golden rim of the glass.

“You were part of the original Council of Magickers, I believe.” Dali confirms; when Inara nods, he continues. “My mothers discussed the Council when I was younger, and I remember hearing your name then. I know now that you are considered to be royalty among the magick users, even though you have as much learned talent as latent, as do the majority of us.”

“That is true,” Inara agrees.

“What I don’t know is why you left the Council, which leads me to enquire of you, what are you doing here?” Dali stirs a cube of cane sugar into his cup and blows across the top of it to cool it slightly.

“Ah, that is a long story, shape shifter and one I do not wish to bore you with this afternoon. Please do not look so offended, you will learn the truth, I promise you. What I would like to hear from you, if you both would be so kind, is to tell me what drove you from your home.” Inara’s voice is as smooth as a well-aged whiskey and almost as smoky.

The servers from earlier return and set out a spread that has Jack’s mouth watering long before he takes his first bite. The past weeks have taken their toll on him and he chows down heartily, only adding to the story Dali weaves over the table when requested. His eyes rove from his plate to the translucent pictures Dali projects towards the ceiling as the young wizard narrates their journey to the Lady Mage.

“When did you learn to do that?” Jack asks around a mouthful of meat and roasted tomatoes.

Dali shrugs then waves a hand over the table. Several ghostly versions of the Cultists appear there, fighting with swords. A woman falls, clutching at her throat. When Jack makes a strangled noise, Dali wipes the images away.

“Jack, forgive me.”

Jack closes his eyes against the onslaught of emotions welling up in his chest at that moment. He exhales, takes a long draught of his ale and gives himself a moment. “That was rude of me, Lady, but the woman, she was my eldest sister, Harry.”

Inara nods to show she has taken no offense. “Sadly, we had a similar problem here two years ago. It is the reason I came here originally, but after seeing how well magickers can get along together, it is the reason I remained. You are aware that many groups like this have cropped up all over the globe, yes?” She taps her fingernails against the edge of the table.

Jack and Dali nod in unison.

“They all refer to a Leader, yet not a one of them ever say his name. He remains hidden in the shadows, even to those with powerful talents of Sight. I only know one other fact that you, however, you are referring to these small militias as ‘The Cultists,’ yet I know they call themselves ‘Cleaners.’” Inara pushes her plate away, folds her hands together on the table.

Jack doesn’t like the sound of ‘Cleaners’ any more than he likes ‘Cultists,’ yet it seems to hint at what their purpose seemed to be back in Lambden. “I don’t understand what they are up to, Lady. At first they didn’t seem overly threatening, then the vendors in the markets stopped wanting to sell to magickers, people started coming to our shop with their hoods up and there were fist fights, then my sister joined them and was killed.”

“I am inclined to believe that what they say their purpose is, is true. They claim to want to ‘take humanity’ back.” Inara states.

“That makes no sense,” Dali interjects, “for the simple fact remains that magick has _evolved_ with humanity; it doesn’t exist as a result of something we did to gain it. It is in our genetic code.”

“You are correct, dear shape shifter. Exactly correct. However, as it has been throughout human history, there are always those who despise anyone or anything different from them and seek to obliterate it.” Inara’s expression hardens; she gestures around the table. “We know that to be true. In fact any non-magical person who has produced offspring with innate talent, whether those talents first appear in the birthing room or when the child reaches puberty, or even beyond—they know that, too. It is a condition of being human, possibly not the first time it has ever occurred in our evolution, but a condition nonetheless.”

Dali huffs and purses his lips together. He quietly contemplates the situation for a few moments. “Perhaps this Leader is non-magical himself? That explains many things, but does not explain how they learn the ability to tell shape shifters at first sight.”

“No,” Inara shakes her head now, the light in the room sparkling on the jewels in her hair. “No it doesn’t.” She studies him for a moment. “That means you know more than just yourself.”

“Yes, Lady, there are at least two others.”

“Tell me about them.”

Dali and then Jack takes turns filling her in on Remy and then Justin; she expresses surprise over a double-alter shifter, then nods wisely when Jack explains that it seems Justin has no other talents other than shifting.

“You see, Healer Weston, that is what makes this particular human condition so endlessly fascinating: the way the talents not only manifest themselves, but the way they seem to come and go. In a single family, the siblings may be a shape shifter, a healer, a spell caster and even one that has no talent at all but can decipher some of the oldest grimoires and learn to make magick that way.” Inara smiles at them. “You see, that is why we need to be together, not just to learn from one another but for safety, as well, against these Leader-types.”

“I agree,” Jack says, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. Beside him, Dali has gone quiet, inwardly reflective. Jack reaches under the table and pats his lover’s thigh; Dali starts a little and blinks down at him. “Hi.” Jack smiles.

When he turns his attention back to Inara, she is watching them closely, a soft grin on her face. “Would you like a place to rest for a while? We are having a dinner tonight and it would be wonderful if the two of you could join us.”

Dali suddenly remembers the way they were brought to Duris. “Are our kidnappers going to be there?” he half growls under his breath.

“Oh, Dali, I assure you that it was never my intention that they mishandle either of you. Unfortunately, I have no better way to bring people here; I have five hundred spells on the city gates and if you do not know the passwords, you’ll never find us. You could have been in the forest for another month or better and still been none the wiser for it.”

“Still, they could’ve simply spoken to us, if it was that obvious we were coming here.” Jack says, his expression shrewd.

“No, I am sorry, Healer Weston, they are under my orders to ensure that no one learns their way here at the moment. Once we banished the Cleaners, it was up to me to keep the other people of Duris safe. We had to ascertain that you weren’t their spies.”

“Right,” Jack agrees, still not quite convinced but an excellent ale and an excellent meal have gone a long way to pacifying him.

“Please, let bygones be bygones. Your horses are in the public stables and are being cared for by a league of young ladies happy to oblige. In the meantime, please, rest up and I will see you tonight. My only request is that you don’t leave the Capitol until after tonight’s dinner, though I apologize if that seems a bit invasive. I’d like to have the honor of introducing the two of you as my distinguished guests.”

Jack meets Dali’s eyes over the table. The young wizard doesn’t seem too put out about the stipulations, so when he nods his agreement, Jack does, too. After that, they are ushered out of the huge dining hall, down another long golden corridor and into a large, well-appointed suite. Neither man takes much time to appreciate the accouterments, however, because they fall into a tangled heap on the luxurious bed and into sleep before they have time to spare for another thought.


	20. P2: Chapter Twenty-one

Dali awakens slowly, his mind slightly fuzzy from the sudden deep sleep that had fallen on him without warning. He would almost believe they had been drugged or had a spell put on them; yet, looking down at Jack’s relaxed features, he realizes it was all a matter of a large meal and the utter exhaustion of fleeing not only from Calum, but also from Lambden.

The young wizard sighs and stretches carefully to avoid bumping Jack. They still have hours to go before they are to meet in the grand hall for their ‘welcome’ dinner this evening, so he is content to remain here in this warm tangle with his lover for a little while longer.

“Dali?” Jack mutters against his side as if his lover was going anywhere else at the moment.

“I’m here,” Dali tells him then twists around to face Jack.

“It’s going to be a long, dull afternoon, isn’t it?”

“Probably. I can’t even change.” Dali says, frowning at the ceiling.

Jack sits up in order to look into Dali’s face. “Why not?”

Dali shrugs. “Really I have no idea. Protective wards or some such.”

Jack narrows his eyes, “Hmmm…so that would mean that even though we’ve been ‘invited’ to stay, we probably can’t leave anyway.”

“Probably not.” The young wizard agrees.

“Well, then, got any ideas for whiling away the hours?” Jack grins, cocking his head to the side and playfully raising his eyebrows.

Dali smiles and cradles Jack’s head in his hands, drawing him closer in order to kiss him; a kiss that heats up as quickly as it began. In no time at all, they are paying no attention to anything but each other.

 

Justin and Missy are making their way down one of the deserted back streets between the Apocothery and the pub, basking in each other’s closeness and watching the fading twilight. It is still light enough to make out landmarks, but too dark to be able to see details, such as signs, very clearly.

“It feels different now, you know?” Missy asks, pausing in the center of the street and staring upward, her hands pushed down into the pockets she’d added to her camel colored breeches. She missed her robes for the same reason; with her handy additions to the inside, they were always more practical, especially when she had been crafting custom spells and herb mixes.

“Which thing?” Justin steps up behind her in order to wrap his arms around her waist; his nose brushes against the back of her neck because her braid has fallen over her shoulder.

Missy stretches her neck back and tiptoes upward a little in order to rest her head on his shoulder; Justin’s arms tighten a bit and he leans forward as she leans back so that they are supporting one another.

“Everything,” her voice is wistful, even to her own ears. “Jack’s gone again, it was so fast it was like he was never really home. I guess I feel like I’m being torn in two—I want to stay here because Lambden is my home, the only one I’ve ever known. A big part of me wants to leave, though, get out of here while…”

Missy’s sentence is left unfinished as Justin is forcibly torn away from her. She is pulled a few feet away, her hands held behind her back in a grip like a vise.

“Let her go!” Justin shouts, his strained voice cracking through the air like a whip.

The hands holding tight switch their grip so that one has hold of her hands and the other presses down on her shoulder, forcing her to the ground.

“Shut the fuck up, shape shifter.” This deep voice belongs to the man behind Justin; he tries to struggle against the hold he’s in, but whoever is holding him is much bigger by far. Justin, thinking he has figured out a way to escape, tiptoes in an attempt to head-butt his captor backwards.

Instantly, he is jerked sideways. “Don’t know who you think you are, but if you try it, you’ll be dead before you know what hit you.” The voice booms over his head; it is so filled with dark, painful promises that Justin believes him.

 

When Jack and Dali arrive at the appointed time for Inara’s welcoming dinner, they are at first met by a pair of closed doors. Tall enough that their tops seem to fade into the arched ceiling above their heads, wide enough to admit six people walking abreast, and certainly covered with enough carvings and gold filigree to not look out of place on a nineteenth century Coney Island carousel, the doors themselves are one of the least impressive things of the moment.

Instead, it is the crackling starbursts of what could be at first mistaken for fireflies dancing and bobbing about the border of the doors that turns out to be the combined magic of one hundred individuals that is most impressive to both the shape shifter and the healer alike.

Dali grasps Jack’s left hand in his right, allowing the other man’s sturdy grip to remove some of the self-consciousness he’s been feeling since a woman showed up at their suite this afternoon with two new sets of clothing and robes for the both of them. Dali’s robes are black and made of a thick, velvety material that is soft to the touch and moves with him as if he’s been wearing them his entire life. Beneath that, he wears a crisp, snowy white tunic with long sleeves and a v-neck, his new breeches and polished boots are black.

Dali turns his head in order to study Jack. The healer’s robes are a warm russet, the material soft but not as showy as Dali’s with a color running more towards the browns of autumn rather than the reds of summer. Dali knows that Jack’s tunic, made in a similar style to his own, yet seeming to be tailor-made for Jack’s broad shoulders, is a deep amber hue, and, according to Jack, practically a match for Dali’s eyes. He also wears black breeches and boots.

Clothing like this isn’t really new to either one of them, because they are close enough to the styles they’ve always worn in Lambden. What makes these dressy outfits different, however, are the golden and silver bracelets the men have been gifted with, each decorated with eye-catching precious stones.

While they wait outside the doors to be welcomed into the dinner party, Dali examines Jack’s bracelet carefully, running a long fingertip against the body warm metal and around the outside of the stones. As his hand passes over the jewelry, he notices how the stones that at first seem to be purple change to green in the shadow then purple again in the light. He frowns and holds up his own wrist to the light after shaking back the sleeve of his robe.

“What is so fascinating?” Jack asks, slightly irritable at being made to wait this long in the corridor.

“Jack, these are birthstones,” Dali informs him as he pulls Jack’s arm in and holds their bracelets next to one another. The metal faintly hums with magic energy.

“Wow, that should probably feel really strange, but it is kind of…” Jack starts.

“…relaxing.” Dali finishes for him.

“Exactly,” Jack nods.

“I thought so, too, and I can’t stop thinking about how unusual these are. It is a most wonderful gift if it is meant the way they’ve been presented.”

“How do you mean?” Jack queries, his mind now fully on his lover and not on the doors in front of them.

“Look,” Dali holds Jack’s arm up as if it is something new Jack’s never seen before. “Mine is made of these light green stones, peridot. Yours is made of this stone that changes from purple to green, depending on the light. That’s alexandrite, one of the rarest of the precious stones of all time. It also happens to be my birthstone.” Dali finishes by running a flat palm over the bracelets without actually touching them. Minute sparks dance between his skin and the metal, he smiles.

Jack grins back at him. “That’s really quite brilliant. I’ve never actually seen birthstone jewelry before, except as fakes overseas. What about these, though?” He shakes his sleeve back over the shiny jewelry, hiding it away again. “What have they been imbibed with?”

Dali shrugs, his expression now uncertain. “I can’t be sure, really, but it feels more like a protection than a threat.”

Jack nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything more because the doors open in front of them and a woman dressed in sapphire blue robes with tiny white flowers in her hair steps forward, offering her hand in greeting to the two men.

“Welcome Healer Jack and Shape Shifter Dali.” The woman speaks in a lovely, lilting voice filled with the promise of exotic lands.

Jack takes her hand respectfully between his own, surely breeching protocols when he does not bring it to his lips. Instead, he presses firmly and says, “Your welcome is accepted, it is a great honor to be here in the great magical city of Duris, all eyes to the most-esteemed Lady Mage, Inara.”

Dali just stares when the woman blushes and completely forgets to say anything to him at all. She turns to lead them down the center aisle that has been created by the use of a golden carpet; when she is several steps away, Dali leans down to speak into Jack’s ear, “I had no idea.”

A quiet, smug grin appears at the corners of Jack’s mouth. “Not sure which you are talking about, but we can discuss in later if you like.”

Dali huffs in as respectable a manner as he is able, sure he’s blushing as much as the woman. “I’ll hold you to your word, _Healer_ Weston.”

After that, there’s no more time to speak, though Dali does not miss the rumbly growl of appreciation that he knows comes from somewhere deep in Jack’s chest. He fights laughter.

They are soon swept up by Inara, along with several people, men and women, who seem to be acting as her aids or possibly her cabinet; she seats them at opposite sides of the table next to her and the evening progresses in the usual fashion from the appetizers, to the main course, to desert. After desert, servers bring around casks of wine so cool it is almost like drinking from a sweet, fresh spring.

Dali is feeling quite pleasantly buzzed on the wine when Jack stands and offers him his hand. At some point in the evening, a four-piece band began playing soft melodies that have gradually melded into something faster for dancing. Dali accepts and soon finds himself caught up in Jack’s arms, their bodies swaying to a tune he does not recognize. Before they stepped out onto the dance floor, they had both removed and hung up their robes at the back of the hall.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” Jack whispers into his ear, punctuating his sentence with a squeeze of the hand that rests on Dali’s lower back. Whatever fabric the young wizard’s tunic is made of, it seems to hug the lean muscles to be found there as they move.

Dali giggles, still feeling quite euphoric thanks to the wine. “Neither did I.”

Laughing, Jack guides them over the dance floor, past the other couples then dramatically dips the shape shifter whose amber eyes widen in surprise at the motion.

“Mmm... that’s gorgeous.” Jack hums as he pulls Dali back up and greets him with a kiss.

Once the room stops spinning, Dali hauls Jack closer to him and they sway in tandem for a small eternity there on the dance floor. Eventually, people begin to leave. They take no notice until Inara is suddenly beside them, smiling and inviting them back to the table.

The table has been cleared of dinner things and now holds a stack of tightly-rolled scrolls, a large map of the entire island, several quills and pots of ink. Jack and Dali join the small group of people now ringing the table; Dali is thankful when a server appears at his elbow with a cup of some steaming hot brew. He sips it without paying much attention and all at once his head clears and the entire room is in focus.

In some ways, he misses the heady, dizzy feeling because he is tired of being so serious. The quiet moments that lovers generally share have been few and far between since they’ve know each other; of course, that certainly makes every second more valuable. Though Dali has no real prior experience to draw on, perhaps they will always have these moments, maybe spread out more, because they have plenty of time to experience them.

Satisfied with these thoughts, the young wizard turns to the conversation already buzzing about him. Inara leans over the table, pointing at some obscure detail on the map like none that the young shape shifter has ever seen before. Their homeland is outlined over the thick paper there in broad strokes, the island nothing more than a blob in the Atlantic Ocean. The coast is outlined in blue, geographic details in green, towns and cities labeled in a precise hand in black ink. He easily picks out the road from Lamden that leads north to Calum then to Duris. Of course, the rather winding trail he and Jack took from Calum would not be here…

Yet is absolutely is. Dali is taken by surprise. The ink looks relatively fresher than the rest. Unthinking, he leans over it and swipes absently at the dotted lines drawn in.

“Hey, don’t do that!” Someone says from behind him, though he flat-out ignores them in favor of noting the exactness of their trail as it follows from an empty circle then parallel to a small river and then stops in a clearing where small shapes that represent trees have been drawn.

“Dali, we have to know all the ways people are coming here.” Inara says at his right as she lays her hand on his shoulder. “We have learned that if we have advanced knowledge of the many routes to Duris then we can watch out for and avoid those unwanted.”

“You mean The Cultists or Changers, or whatever you are calling them, right?” Dali asks her straightforwardly.

Inara gazes at him, her eyes seemingly boring into his soul and trapping him in place. “Let me spin you a tale, yes?” she asks, though no one answers, one of her aids pulls one of the chairs out for her and she settles into it, gracefully crossing her feet at the ankles.

She’s dressed in the same fine scarlet robe she wore earlier, though the color seems muted now to Dali’s eyes. He watches her carefully, part of him knowing he isn’t going to like what she has to say, while the other part of him is afraid she’s going to say exactly what he is fears most about the current world situation. His toes curl in his boots and he crosses his arms over his chest.

Inara lays out her tale, her hands gracefully moving with her words; she often uses her fingers and her eyes to make particular points. As she begins to speak, the people in the room find chairs and everyone settles down, except for Dali, he stands behind Jack’s chair with his hands on his lover’s shoulders.

“Let me take you back in time to where people first realized they were re-evolving the magical talents. As everyone in this room is aware, humanity had already gained and lost these talents at least twice in the history of our species. Luckily, it was a peaceful time virtually around the globe when the first babies performed simple spells almost directly from the womb, sending medical personnel and their parents into absolute shock. In almost no time at all, scientists were studying this new to their generation phenomenon, and it was announced around the world that these new changes were natural, nothing to fear. Some groups of people even postulated that these talents were proof that humanity was finally maturing, moving forward on their time line and becoming _better_.”

Inara shifts, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs. Her gaze falls upon everyone in the room in turn as if waiting for questions. Jack and Dali share a look between them, they both have heard this part of the story before.

“And so it was that it appeared that as a species we had reached an important milestone: so many things that different groups of people viewed as offense to one another began to fall by the wayside, namely those things that are now considered to be of a more personal nature, such as when, whom, and how we love. Sadly, there were good things that fell by the wayside, as well: with our newly discovered ‘peace,’ we some of our crafting ability and the majority of cities and towns around the world lost electricity and running water, certainly we lost the ability to travel by air and land with machines as our great-great ancestors could do—but you see, _none_ of these things mattered, because we have _magick_.”

She pauses now, closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Magick,” she whispers in a voice that is filled with both desire and awe.

“And so I say to all of you that our talents have become the thing that sets us apart from others of our species. Are we the most evolved of humanity?” She asks the room at large. When no one answers, she continues, “I don’t think I’m going to go that far. I will say, however, that I believe we have a responsibility to all magickers, from the least-talented to the highest,” her she looks directly at Jack then Dali, her gaze heavy enough that both of them feel it. “…and so I, along with some talented cohorts, opened the town of Duris, which you have all been invited to. Among us here, and out there,” she points at the windows, clearly meaning the entire town, “There isn’t a single non-magick person. Unfortunately for us, however, there is a certain group seeking to persecute us for these talents and we are doing our absolute best to keep them out of our city.”

“I have to ask you, Lady Mage,” Jack’s voice cuts across the silence following Inara’s words like a flaming sword through a layer of river ice. Several people inhale in surprise that anyone would dare speak up. Inara’s intense gaze holds him to the spot, refuses to allow him to back down now that he’s begun this line of inquiry.

“Yes, Healer Weston?” Inara asks, her voice deceptively pleasant.

“Lady, may I please inquire as the whereabouts of those relatives of magickers who have no talents of their own?”

A frigid blast of silence rushes through the dining hall as if someone opened all the windows and doors in the place simultaneously in the middle of a winter storm.

For a few moments, it seems to everyone present that Inara is going to ignore the question.

“Healer Weston, I believe this is something that has been brought up by my cabinet before; however, since you and your partner, Shape Shifter Dali, are new here, I will honor your query.” The people standing and sitting closest to her nod their heads in agreement. “You see, it was a difficult decision to make to keep out the non-talented, non-magickal relatives of those invited to live in our fair town. It wasn’t something we decided in a day or even ten. However, the decision was finally reached when a non-magickal relative was found to be responsible for bringing the Changers into the town limits.

Thanks to that single person, the entire town was almost brought to its knees, its citizens slaughtered and made to feel inferior to the rest of the human race. Thanks to that single person, it was not only myself who would have suffered whatever the Changers were handing out, but most certainly everyone else in the town, and especially the family of that person.” Inara regards Jack now to the exclusion of anyone else in the dining hall. It is as if the two of them exist alone. Dali moves back and forth on the balls of his feet, unconsciously preparing for battle should he be called upon to fight.

Inara narrows her eyes at Jack and a small, smug grin tugs at her lips without ever coming to fruition. “I hear tell that you’ve experienced a similar situation,” she states bluntly.

Jack’s shoulders tense beneath Dali’s fingers. “May we take our leave for the evening, My Lady?”

Dali finds it especially interesting that the more annoyed Jack becomes, the more formal his speech gets. The happy, dizzy feeling from the wine he’d drank earlier is burning its way out of his system; in a small way, he knows he will miss it later.

Inara tilts her head at them, stretches her long legs out in front of her and contemplates her answer. Dali can tell she doesn’t want to lose face; her internal argument seems to be about which way she’ll lose less: if she doesn’t let Jack go, then there may be an argument brewing she cannot possibly win, yet if she lets him go, it is almost as if he’s calling the shots.

Dali doesn’t envy either one of them, but he accepts where his loyalties lie. He adjusts his stance a bit, knowing that Jack will understand the unspoken statement.

Finally, Inara’s mind is made up. “I believe you may be feeling a bit exhausted from your long journey to Duris, Healer Weston. You are absolutely correct, the two of you should certainly turn in for the night. Perhaps things will look brighter in the morning.”

“We are much obliged, My Lady,” Jack stands, offering her a bow. Dali quickly moves to his side and copies him, casually slipping his robe over his head after calling it from one of the hooks in the back of the room.

Inara nods again and two of her aides step from behind her to lead them out of the dining hall; a young woman in front of Jack and a young man behind Dali. They make a strange entourage for sure, but no one seems to think that any of it is strange. The other people in the dining hall simply wish them goodnight and good morrow. Jack and Dali are perfectly aware that they are being _escorted_ in every sense of the word; it is obvious that no deviance of any fashion in their path from dining hall to suite will be tolerated.


	21. P2: Chapter Twenty-two

When they are alone in their suite again, Jack drops down into one of the armchairs, snapping his fingers and lighting a handful of the candles spread about the room. Dali double-checks the lock on the door then joins him, sitting in the floor at Jack’s feet and leaning his back against the chair.

“What are we going to do?” Dali wonders aloud, completely amazed that his slight wine buzz has completely dissipated, leaving a bit of a headache in its wake.

“I don’t know,” Jack answers, leaning forward and running his hands down Dali’s arms, letting his fingers linger on the soft velvety nap of his robes. He is feeling out of place, truly exhausted despite their long afternoon nap and slightly foolish.

“Maybe we should have stayed in Lambden.”

“What do you mean?” Dali turns around to face him, expression incredulous.

Jack’s brow is furrowed. “It seems like we have jumped from the frying pan into the fire, that’s all.”

Dali snorts then rubs at his forehead. “That’s all?” He frowns now, too, as he gives the matter a little more thought. “I see what you mean, on one side we are hated because we have talent, yet on this side, they hate the ones who don’t have any magick. I don’t agree with either of them.”

Jack nods his agreement, “Exactly. In the meantime, though, I don’t suppose it will hurt to hang out here for a bit, at least until I can get word home and see how things are there. If the Changers have left, are you interested in going back?”

“Honestly, Jack, I want to be wherever you are.”

Jack studies Dali’s honest expression and thinks about how the young wizard often wears his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see. He takes a moment, then, to consider how much upheaval the shape shifter has dealt with in his twenty-one years. Plenty. Absolutely enough for anybody.

“I’m sorry.” Jack’s words are past his lips before he can hold them in.

“Why would you apologize?” Dali raises himself up from the floor to perch on the arm of Jack’s chair.

Jack can’t think of a way to really answer that; how do you say you’d like to go back and put your arms around the little boy whose family imploded when his father was murdered by his second mother in front of him? Granted, from the stories he’s told, it sounds as if the woman was totally justified—but still. And all those years alone? Jack’s heart breaks every time he contemplates it all.

He doesn’t say anything else, though, he simply wraps his arms around his lover and hauls him down into his lap. On the outset, it may be ridiculous to want to hold him that way, but hold him he does until they drift towards the bedroom.

 

Everything starts to happen very slowly, as if time itself has been frozen. The alley around them grows ever more distant as Missy’s focus narrows down to just herself, Justin, and their attackers. It seems to Missy as if the night has not just fallen but that the sun has picked up and ran away from them. She fights the urge to call some lights into being, then realizes that move would help their attackers as much as it would help them.

Nothing can be heard over the sounds of their breathing: Missy’s own, Justin’s, and the two Cultists holding them at bay. Missy runs over everything she knows about them in her head, trying hard to keep herself calm. She doesn’t move an inch, even when the person standing behind her tries to shove her sideways to the ground.

“No,” she states firmly, her voice deceptively level.

The person, turns out to be a man, laughs darkly. “Oh little miss, I believe you’re gonna do anything I say, ‘cause if you don’t, I’m gonna cut up the little pup.”

Justin inhales sharply. His secret is out and now there’s not going to be any stopping them.

There’s something thick and wet and slimy on the side of Missy’s neck now and she shudders, still refusing to give into her fears in any way. Her knees are starting to ache and she can feel a slight sting from the pebbles and other debris that litter the ground.

“Don’t touch her!”

Justin’s shout echoes off the tall stone buildings surrounding the alley and Missy suddenly remembers that without a doubt, his shape shifting would give him better night vision than she has. She hopes her expression doesn’t belie how terrified she really is, for fear that Justin will try to fight them and wind up getting hurt. Though there were many nights she was already in bed before people came to be patched up by her big brother and she didn’t see many of the wounds, Jack told her about them in enough detail that she can imagine easily what could become of them. Her mind tumbles with nervous energy as she casts about for ideas for getting them out of this predicament, preferably with all their digits, limbs, and their necks intact.

A picture begins to form in her mind of Jack down on his knees, weeping, and she angrily pushes it away. It is persistent, however, and she is forced to acknowledge it, yet it seems such an anomaly, something against the strength of character, not to mention his tremendous powers of empathy that is a mantle of armor over his shoulders.

“Get up,” the stern, gruff voice says behind her. Missy doesn’t fight him, though she doesn’t attempt to help him in any way, either. There’s a bit of a bump to her lower back that she is sure is the toe of a boot, but she continues to ignore him.

On the other side of the alley, Justin is putting up with much the same treatment, only his attacker is being much less than kind about the whole thing. The muscles down his spine and aching from the pressure on his shoulders; his knees aren’t in much better shape.

“You’ve got to change!” Missy calls out to him.

He shakes his head, knowing full well that she cannot see him. There is a small shred of possibility that they only know of one of his alters, so there may actually be some hope in that, after all.

“What about you?” Justin calls back then adds a resounding groan when the man shoves him forward so that he lands on the palms of his hands in order to keep from smashing his face against the ground. Somehow, he picks up the murmuring surussing sound of Missy casting a spell.

“Don’t touch me.” Missy orders then there’s the loud sound of flesh against flesh and a heavy thump.

Missy pulls her fist back and shakes it, kicking at the man she’s just knocked out on the ground to make sure he’s really out. Now all that’s left is one of them, but she is almost completely blind.

The man behind Justin has picked up straight up off his feet; a pair of huge, bulging arms locked together by the hands over Justin’s chest. Justin uselessly kicks at him as he feels himself hefted into the air. Suddenly, there’s a whoosing sound and then light floods the alley. The man lets Justin go and he can tell exactly which spells Missy has cast.

He doesn’t really have time to react, however, because as good as his night vision is, the white light leaves him completely blind to the blade aiming for his chest. Justin hears Missy shout and then there’s a push to his shoulders and a sting in his side. When he hits the ground, the last thing he sees is that same blade being drawn backwards and Missy’s terrified expression as it is heading her way before her luminary spell runs out of time. He tries to scream, shout, doing anything, but he can no longer feel anything except for a sizzling bolt of pain radiating down his spine.

 

Jack awakens with a jolt. He wipes the dripping sweat from his forehead and pushes himself up to sit against the rails of the bed, inadvertently shoving Dali the opposite direction when he does so.

“Jack?” Dali asks blearily, opening one eye. When he takes in Jack’s heavy breathing and wide eyes, he crawls back over to him and lays his head on Jack’s thigh.

Jack runs his hands through his hair, seeing Dali clearly now even though his subconscious is still showing him terrible pictures that he wishes he couldn’t see.

“There’s something wrong at home,” he says, catching his breath. “We’ve got to go back.”

Dali sits up fully now, the blanket draping over his bare chest like a toga as he moves. Even in his agitated state, Jack appreciates the fine view.

“How?” Dali queries, leaving aside the most important question of the moment, _would they let us leave_?

“I…I don’t know, Dali. Inara said something about our horses being in a public stable...frankly, it doesn’t matter to me. I think we need to get out of here.” Jack states, the fingers in his hair trembling as he combs them back and forth.

Dali is unsure what to do, simply because he is unused to seeing his lover so agitated and unable to do anything about it. “What do you want me to do?”

Dali’s question is left hanging in the air between them when there is a loud knock on the door of their suite. Jack’s hands freeze in his hair and their gazes lock. Dali holds out a hand to him, palm outward, silently telling him to stay where he is. Without a word, he calls his robes to him, wishing they were not these new ones that he was gifted with last night, but his old, road worn ones. He deftly slips them around his body as he gets out of the bed. When he gets to the door he finds that Jack hasn’t waited and is directly behind him, dressed in his new tunic and breeches; his feet are bare.

There is another knock as he raises a hand over it. He looks back at Jack, his hand in the air and waits. Jack murmurs a soft incantation that causes the door to shimmer with a pink glow. “Not an enemy,” Jack says as he steps forward and opens it.

Inara breezes through as if she had been given leave to do so. Jack guesses it really doesn’t matter, he could not have stopped her if he’d tried.

“That was an interesting low-level spell, there, Healer Watson. I would love to have you teach it to my cabinet members.” She doesn’t wait for an answer nor an invitation, but steps around them to settle into one of the armchairs.

The compliment goes past unremarked upon.

“Lady Mage, I am glad you are here…” Jack begins, tugging on his boots while standing in front of the still-open door. “We are going to have to leave, I apologize but something has happened and we need to get back…”

“Stop,” Inara orders quietly. Jack and Dali both stop moving. “I have news for you from Lambden,” she states, pointing at the sofa.

Jack closes the door and takes his place next to Dali who is perched on the very edge of the sofa, looking for all the world as if he is going to spring to his feet at the slightest provocation.

“Apparently, your youngest sister and her beau had a run-in with a nasty pair of Changers last night.”

“Oh god, no.” Jack’s voice fills instantly with pain; Dali knows he’s just readied himself for the worst.

“They fought them off, Jack. Your sister apparently knocked out the first one then managed to cast an impressive luminary spell to blind the other one. Her beau, however, was injured physically and metaphysically.”

Jack pushes off the sofa and heads back to the door.

“Healer Weston, you cannot leave.”

“You cannot make me stay here against my will,” Jack growls.

Dali takes a long look at Inara’s face and allows himself to relax against the back of the sofa, already knowing full well what she is going to say. Jack stares at him in shock at the sudden change in his demeanor.

Jack’s world is spinning and he doesn’t really know how to make it stop. He puts both hands on the back of the sofa as if to anchor himself and lets his head hang.

Inara regards him with a gentler expression painted on her face now. “Healer Weston, we are bringing them here. I wanted to tell you last night, but your rather abrupt departure left me no time to explain.”

Jack’s raises his head and meets her gaze equally, his blue eyes hard as steel. There are several things he wants to say to her, most of them a bit impolite; he stifles himself, however, in order to ask the important questions. “Both of them?”

“Yes,” Inara nods.

Jack tilts his chin sharply at her. “When?”

“My people are hoping to be home before nightfall.” Inara informs him as she prepares to make her leave. “You will be able to see them arrive. I will call for you.”

“No,” Jack counters, moving to step in front of her and block her exit. “We can’t just remain locked up here, Inara.”

Inara purses her lips and watches Jack closely, seeming to make up her mind about something important. She turns from him to study Dali, and addresses him first.

“Have you been able to shift since you’ve been here?”

“No,” Dali answers her honestly.

Inara returns her attention to Jack who hasn’t moved a muscle, still standing with his legs shoulder width apart and his arms crossed over his chest. “I will have the protection wards lifted from your suite, then. I apologize, but I have to ask you to remain here for the time being. Your meals will be delivered here and should you need anything, simply request assistance from one of my aides.”

“Your aides?” Dali asks.

“Yes, without the protective wards in place, I will have someone stationed outside your door.”

“Lady Mage, why do you distrust us?” Jack narrows his eyes at her, etiquette be damned.

Inara seems to be caught out by Jack’s forthright question. “It isn’t you that I don’t trust, Jack. I know the two of you mean no harm to anyone here in Duris.”

With that, she brushes past Jack, gracefully squeezing past him without actually touching him.

Jack remains where he is even after the door is shut behind Inara’s retreating form. He frowns at the plush carpet beneath his feet, a thousand thoughts bouncing through his mind at the same time.

“Jack?” Dali calls from the sofa. Jack looks up to meet his eyes and feels a stab in his heart at the injured expression on his lover’s face. “It’s me, isn’t it? That Inara doesn’t trust?”

Jack ponders that for a moment, “I’m not sure how that’s even possible. Surely there are other shape shifters here?”

It appears that there are no answers to their queries, Jack knows all too well. Everything Inara told them last night seems to only be adding more questions to the stack already present.

“I can leave.” Dali states, his voice firm.

“No,” Jack says, dropping down beside him and pulling him close. “I still don’t completely trust her. I don’t want us to be separated. If it is a shape shifter issue, then she should come right out and say it.”

Dali shrugs against Jack. He positions himself so that he has inched down some so that his head can rest on Jack’s shoulder. “I wish we had more information to go on,” he murmurs.

Jack closes his eyes against the sensation of Dali’s warm breathe on his neck. “I agree.” He opens his eyes and looks at the bookshelf across the room, filled from the top to the bottom with an assortment of tomes. “Come on, I think I could use some breakfast and a book.”

Dali gets up and goes to the door, opening it slowly and sticking his head out. He is glad to find one of Inara’s aides standing outside, so that means that she was truthful about him being able to switch into his feline alter. He quickly tells the young woman that they would like some breakfast and asks if it is possible she can leave a tea kettle for after? She agrees and taps her index finger against the bracelet she’s wearing.

Dali studies it carefully before she shrugs her saffron robe sleeve back over it. When another young woman appears, this one wearing robes of a darker color yellow, the first woman passes on their guests’ order. The second woman nods and disappears down the long corridor, moving quickly but with almost no sound other than her swishing robes.

When Dali returns to the sofa, he holds his arm up in order to get a closer look to the bracelet on his own arm. He hadn’t given it much thought since last night, but as daylight begins to brighten their rooms, he decides to contemplate it for a bit. Jack has already retrieved a book from the shelf and he is flipping through the pages, one leg crossed over the other, and his back against the corner of the couch where the back meets the arm.

“They use them to communicate with each other,” Dali states as if picking up a thread of thought out of nowhere. He pokes at his bracelet as he moves his arm so that the jewels pick up the sunlight streaming in through the window.

Jack watches him out of the corner of his eye, feigning attention on the old book in his hands. He is a bit calmer now, feeling as if he is back to his normal self. Dali’s closeness and constant inquisitiveness helps bring his blood pressure down that much more.

“Jack?”

When Jack turns his head to look at Dali, he is met with the full on intensity of Dali’s gaze, his amber eyes practically glowing in the muted sunlight. He raises his eyebrows.

“Have I ever said it?” Dali frowns a bit, his forehead wrinkling up a bit the way it does when he’s concentrating.

“Said what, Dali?” Jack closes the book and lets it fall into his lap.

Dali closes his eyes, and leans closer to speak into Jack’s ear, “I love you.”

Jack’s eyes widen and he wonders how in the world he’s supposed to answer that? He cups Dali’s face in his hands and pulls him closer. “I love you back,” he tells him, feasting on the sight of Dali’s thrilled expression. When he kisses the young wizard, he pours everything that he is into it to the point that his hand seems to reach out and grasp the nape of Dali’s neck of its own volition.

At the possessive touch, Dali makes a growly, purr-like sound in his chest as he rises up on his thighs in order to straddle Jack’s lap. Things are beginning to get intense when one of their not-guards knocks on the door and announces that their breakfast has arrived. Dali laughs and Jack chuckles, too, allowing some of the tension, both positive and negative, to dissipate between them.


	22. P2: Chapter Twenty-three

Missy is only halfway surprised to open her eyes and see her brother standing by the bedside. She sits up slowly, a bit sore and stiff from the long, tense ride to wherever her and Justin have landed. That brings her thoughts round to Justin.

“Have you seen…?”

Jack reaches for her hand and holds it steady between his. He takes a deep breath before he speaks, steeling himself. Missy already knows, though, and her head drops towards her chest. It is more than the stricken expression on his face that tells her everything, because there was no one around to help, no one who could treat the physical and metaphysical wounds at the same time.

Except her brother, Jack.

“Damn you,” Missy spits, her brows drawn together. She raises her hands and shakes her head, as if she could ward off the words she has yet to hear but feels her in soul that they have already been spoken.

“I’m sorry.” Jack takes two steps back away from the bed, his own posture slumped and defeated. “I worked all afternoon and into the night. He was already so far gone, just like Anthony. All I could do was ease him on his journey.”

“You should have been there.” Missy’s voice is cold, filled with the searing pain of grief.

“Missy, you know why we left,” Jack states as calmly as possible, not saying out loud what he thinks would have happened had they all been together: there’s half a chance that none of them would have made it away from the confrontation alive. Deep in his thoughts, he barely registers the sound of the door to their suite opening and Dali’s footsteps striding into the bedroom. The footsteps stop when Dali is behind Jack, standing close but not touching his lover, silently being there for when he is needed.

Missy sobs now, one hand over her mouth, her hair falling over her face. “If only…”

“No, Missy, don’t do that now.”

“What do you know?”

Missy’s broken tones tear at Jack’s resolve to be patient with her, but he feels the hurt as strongly as she is feeling it. It’s almost too much. He wants to go to her, embrace her, offer comfort; they’ve always been close and in his heart he hopes that not being able to save Justin in the end is not going to be what rips their relationship to shreds.

“I’m sorry. We…we did everything. Missy, I did everything I could do. We even had some of Inara’s people helping us.” Jack spins on his heels so fast he runs in Dali, face first.

“Jack, stay.” Dali states plainly, resting his hands on Jack’s shoulders.

Jack rests his head against Dali’s chest for a moment, glad that Missy has never been much of a screamer the way their older sister was when she was livid. Dali’s hands tighten their grip on his shoulders, offering his own brand of comfort without adding undue strain between the Weston siblings.

Jack exhales again, unable to block out Missy’s weeping; suddenly he is struck with the image of Justin’s final moments. The young man’s jaw clenched tight against the pain, forehead drenched with sweat, eyes already fixed, his mind already out of Earthly reach. He inhales and exhales, trying to time he’s breathing with Dali’s. Somehow, the exercise works and he is much more centered when he turns around to face his sister again.

This time he doesn’t ask or attempt to approach her cautiously, he simply walks over and sits down on the mattress beside her. Missy starts to pull away, instead falls into him when he opens his arms the way he’s always done to invite her to share her tears with her big brother.

Dali watches them for a few moments, takes in their communal grief and understands that the loss of a friend affects him, too. Though he did not know Justin as well nor as long as Missy had, he can see clearly that part of her sadness comes from their only-recently budded romance from a long friendship. His amber eyes sweep over the siblings from head to toe and he also notes several other details about Missy he is certain Jack has not yet noticed.

Now is not the time.

Dali turns away, then, to offer the Westons some privacy for their grief. There isn’t too much he can do, but at least he is able to make Justin’s passage to the next plain that much easier. There is simply no point in having learned so much by Jack’s side and not using it. He catches Jack’s eye in order to ensure that his lover knows he will be returning shortly and Jack nods, his chin tucked into Missy’s hair. Though he doesn’t speak, Dali understands the clear message of gratitude when he sees it.

 

Dali completes the ceremony for Justin Sipple, or, as he will be known here in Duris, Dual Shape Shifter Justin. It is an unwieldy title, Dali thinks as he rolls up the scroll so recently signed by Inara that the ink is still wet on the bottom of it. The Lady Mage herself is not in attendance, so the scroll was brought to him by one of her ubiquitous aides.

Once the body has been removed from the alcove where Dali performed the Ceremony of Safe Travels, he stays behind, alone. The alcove is tucked away in a relatively dark corner of the Temple. Above his head, the walls curve upward to end in a vaulted ceiling very similar to that of Inara’s capitol building. He closes his eyes and raises his heads, his arms sketching a curve around his head. In his heart, he feels he hasn’t given enough thanks to the Goddesses worshipped by his mothers, so he takes the time to do that now. There are guards around him, but it seems this type of thing would not been seen as a threat.

Dali slowly goes to his knees, carefully untucking his robes from beneath them as he does so. He spreads them around himself so that to an onlooker it would appear that he is rising from a dark puddle there on the dark wooden floor. A strange wave of nostalgia passes over him as he takes the familiar position and he thinks that perhaps he should bring Jack to this beautiful place. With the great sense of budding joy that bubbles up in his chest at the thought of love, despite the reason that brought him here, he is swiftly drawn into an old memory.

 

“Mummy Sankari,” six-year old Dali asks as he holds her hand. He has been alternately skipping and hopping at her side since they started for the market. It took him all off three seconds to begin with his ultra-excited wiggle dance as soon as they stepped out of the carriage. Dali remembers that the day was like a cliché: beautiful blue sky, a few puffy white clouds above their heads, a warm, mellow sun and the scent of a thousand different flowers in the spring air.

“I am quite happy to be out and about as well, _Hijo de mi corazón_.”

“Why, Mummy?” he asks, pulling on her hand so that she will stop and look down at him. He admires her lovely almond-shaped eyes when they gaze at him so. Dali smiles at her, glad of the happy feeling in his chest when she calls him ‘son of my heart.’ He likes that much better than being called by his real name, Richard; he’s already decided that he’s going to change his name as soon as he thinks he’ll get away with it.

“Ah, why the little shadow?” Sankari crouches down on her knees, her green silk robe brushes the ground. She cups the side of his face in her hand, tilting it a little so she can ensure that he is looking at her and nowhere else. “Today is a happy day.”

Dali nods, “ _Si, mama._ ”

“Alright then, mister smarty, tell me what is so happy about this day.”

Dali is slightly mesmerized by the way the morning sun glints on his second mother’s glossy black hair. He reaches out carefully to touch it and she laughs, a lovely sound just as filled with light and warmth as the day itself.

“I am getting a little sister today!” Dali shouts, his own joy bubbling out of him just as Sankari’s seems to be doing.

“Indeed you are, my free spirit!” Picking him up and spinning him around on the pavement, Sankari laughs when people stop and stare at them. She sets him back down beside her and they continue to the Market.

Dali remembers everything after that in complete clarity: from the shopping they did that day, especially the tiny pink robes that they purchased. It all went by so fast. He remembers hearing Sankari says several times that day that they are welcoming a baby girl into their family.

Even though he is so young, he understands clearly what it means to be adding a new life to his family. There’s nothing he wants more to see than his baby sister since the day when his First mother, Ines, with a gleam in her eyes and a broad smile on her face, informs him that he is going to be a big brother.

 

Dali’s memory fast forwards itself while he remains on the wooden floor of the alcove in a huge, mostly empty Temple in Duris. Behind his closed eyes, he can still see his baby sister Sacha; her tiny, perfectly-formed fingers and toes. His memories show him again her fuzzy brown hair and big, brown eyes. His mother, Ines, holding her out so that he might get a better look at the tiny pink skin, beautiful rosebud mouth, lips so similarly shaped to his own in miniature.

At once, Dali opens his eyes. Grief stabs through his heart and he bows his head towards the floor, a tiny snarl of anger flowing through him on the heels of the sadness and the memory of the loss.

Sacha had huge brown eyes.

Dali thinks about the first time he met Missy Weston; she was a teenager, still mourning the death of her parents. Dali knows now exactly when that time would have been from Jack sharing his stories of the same time period; only he was overseas, part of the forces that were supposed to be embroiled in the last wars humanity would ever see—or so said the politicians Dali had little use for, even now.

 _It doesn’t matter now_ , he reminds himself, returning to the memory he was closely examining. His subconscious has latched onto something, some small detail that he needs to see.

It’s the eyes.

Missy’s eyes remind him of his deceased little sister’s. That is what drew him to her in the first place, never mind the fact that her parents were some of the first people in Lambden to have a kind word for him, whether he appeared on their doorstep as a human or cat. The day after both Weston parents passed away from the terrible disease that had ravaged so many in the town was the first day Missy sat outside on the front step and offered him a bite to eat. Though in his feline alter, he was well aware of her intentions and he realizes that it was right then that he’d made his first friend.

If it wouldn’t have been for that, Dali would not now have Jack. That thought makes him feel lighter, happier. After losing so many people close to him, both of his mothers, his baby sister, technically his father as much as he truly detested the man, and now another friend; but, he considers as he draws himself up from the floor, he still has his partner and the young woman who seems to have filled in the empty spot in his chest that was first hollowed out when he was seven and his baby sister passed away quietly in the night of her first birthday.

Dali stands up slowly, still facing the floor with his eyes closed tightly against the memories. He wants nothing now but to fly out of the alcove, out of the temple, and straight back to Jack; time, though, he knows that he needs to give the Weston siblings time to be alone together to begin their own healing processes—again.

What would it have been like if his family were still alive? The young wizard wonders, pulling the hood of his robes over his head so that no one will talk to him as he makes his way out of the temple. So far, the majority of the people here in Duris have treated him with respect and courtesy, yet he can pick up on the slight undercurrent of distrust that runs beneath their politeness—something he does not sense directed at Jack.

Of course, in the past few days, they haven’t been around too many people. Mostly Inara’s aides and servants. And the not-guards, how could he forget about those?

Dali steps out from the cool shadows of the temple into the bright afternoon. He keeps his head down as he descends the stone steps of the temple and crosses the hard packed dirt street. The noises in Duris are different from those of Lambden, of that there is no doubt; there is more of a hum here, like the hum of the generator in the makeshift hospital in Calum or in the Sipples’ pub in Lambden.

The dirt beneath his boot soles changes quickly to the large, flat stones lining the road. He steps up onto them, taking in the worn faces of them where they have slowly been rasped down by hundreds of feet walking over them daily. Originally, the shape shifter thought these stones were for decoration only, though it turns out that they are for walking upon when it rains. Duris is much closer to the northern coast of the island that Lambden is, so it gets heavier rains and the occasional storm the blows in off the ocean. As a result, the streets will flood. The large stones are several inches above the street, making it easy and relatively safe to walk even in the aftermath of a storm.

Dali knocks on the golden front door of the Capitol, doing his best to not look too closely at the neatly cut stone bricks that the building is made of, nor the gorgeous carvings-also stone-that play along the top of the door. Several different types of birds are there, all lovingly carved with painstaking detail: an owl, a hawk, several smaller birds he doesn’t recognize right off, a stork and a crane in one corner with its wings outspread. The crane is the only bird facing off from the others, towards the sun as if enjoying its freedom.

Freedom, thinks Dali, if this is freedom, then they were better off dying for nothing in Lambden. He makes his way through the corridors to their suite without being stopped. Naturally, even with his head down, he can still practically feel the eyes watching him as he strides; the corridors, though they seem empty, do not echo with his footsteps. In fact, it is as if he barely exists at all out here—a whisper of a hint in the back of someone else’s mind. He shakes off the maudlin thoughts as he opens the door. The young man who is posted there today gives him a respectful nod, the first time Dali has been openly acknowledged by another human being since the ceremony. Taken a little by surprise at the gesture, he nods back.

“Good day, sir.” The young man says softly.

“Thank you,” Dali murmurs, opening the door as the corridor around them once again swallows any sound.

Dali pauses long enough to pull off his robes and boots and set them up against the wall behind the door, tossing the robes over the back of the sofa. He strides through the sitting room to stop outside the doorway. Missy is on her side, her back facing Jack, obviously asleep; her hands together near her face. Jack is sitting up beside her, one of his strong hands resting on her hip. He looks up when Dali stops, his expression sad, though his lips do quirk upward at the corners, a welcome Dali will never cease to find refreshing.

“The ceremony went well, his spirit should be at rest,” Dali offers, his voice still a bit tremulous after his inwardly emotional morning.

“That’s good, thank you for taking care of that for me,” Jack shifts and scoots over in order to put his feet to the floor. He gently adjusts the blanket over Missy before stepping up to Dali and resting his palms on Dali’s chest. They stand that way for a moment, relaxing in their own little positive feedback loop of needing and being needed.

When Jack rises up on his toes, Dali bows his head and their lips meet, a sweet press of soft flesh that is not a lead in or a tease, but a definite answer to a question never posited.

“Let her rest,” Jack says, breaking their kiss and stepping back. They turn together, Jack pulling the door to but not completely closed so he can listen if his sister calls out to him.

They settle on the sofa next to each other and Jack asks about Justin’s ceremony. Dali fills him in on the details and describes the peaceful alcove in the temple where the ritual took place. Jack nods and murmurs his agreement in all the right places.

Eventually, a meal is delivered for them, they eat quickly and Jack sets the dirty dishes outside the door as they have been instructed to do. A covered plate for Missy and a hot tea pot sit on the small, round dining table next to the kitchenette.

Jack settles onto the sofa and reaches for his book as Dali makes himself comfortable, finally coming to rest with his head in Jack’s lap. He feels like he needs to tell Jack about Sacha, though it is always so difficult to know when to bring these kinds of things up. When Jack begins to drag his fingers absently through Dali’s hair, the young wizard sighs and makes up his mind.

“Jack, I had a baby sister,” he begins, keeping his eyes closed. It is obvious from the sounds that Jack has returned his book to the side table and is now looking down at Dali.

“Tell me about her,” Jack requests, his fingers resuming their original self-imposed task of lightly scratching at Dali’s scalp then combing through his curls.

“Sacha was born when I was six years old. Mummy Sankari took me to the Market that day to purchase some gifts for her…”

 

Dali talks almost nonstop for two hours, finally ending his tale sitting up against Jack’s chest, Jack’s arms around his waist and a lukewarm cup of tea in his hands. When at last he stops and takes a cautious sip of the beverage, he realizes that Missy is sitting in the chair opposite him, her face shiny with tears. Dali looks up at her, stunned as to the light feeling now spreading in his chest at having shared this heavy secret.

“That is a beautiful name,” Missy says, gently blowing into a linen square. She dabs at her eyes and beams a watery smile at him. “Is it alright if I use it?”

Dali sits up so quickly that he ends up with a lapful of now cold tea. Behind him, Jack laughs, a joyous sound.

“Dali, did I mention that you are going to be an uncle?”

Missy shakes her head at her brother. “Well, that’s close enough, anyway. I had my own suspicions, but the healers who checked us,” her voices hitches a little then returns to mostly normal, “well, they confirmed it. It was the last thing I got to say to Justin.”

She turns her face towards the ceiling in an effort to keep herself under control.

“Missy, it is going to be difficult, but we’ll be here for you.”

Missy nods, “Thank you.”

“Yes!” Dali blurts out, glad now that he and Jack stayed here in Duris. Perhaps this is what they’ve been waiting for: some type of good in between everything that has been happening around them. Perhaps this is a sign that things are settling down. He hugs Missy tightly, even dropping a kiss on the top of her head, so overcome with emotion that he simply changes into his alter and hops up onto Missy’s lap.

Jack laughs as Missy strokes his fur.

 

The three of them settle in to a comfortable routine for a few days, though both Jack and Dali miss their privacy. On the third evening, Inara pays them a visit.

“I’ve heard no word from you Healer Weston, nor you,” she informs them, her eyes falling on each of them in turn, they widen when she looks at Missy who is curled up in one of the armchairs with a book on her lap. “Ah,” she says carefully.

“Lady Mage, please meet my sister, Missy,” Jack introduces them, not moving from his spot on the sofa, mostly because Dali’s head is in his lap, a place where it always seems to be whenever Jack attempts to read.

“I am pleased to finally meet your acquaintance, though my heart is filled with sorrow for the reason for your journey. You are most welcome to stay, the _both_ of you.” Inara offers Missy a small bow.

Missy blushes. “I most thankful, Lady Mage,” she says, her voice normal and firm, her mouth easily forming around the formalities learned from Jack, yet never spoken before.

Inara waves a hand in the air then gestures towards Missy, “Well, we can drop all the formalities, I believe. May I?”

Missy frowns for a second, then, realizing what Inara is asking, puts her book down and nods her agreement. Inara approaches her slowly then gently reaches out and places her palm on Missy’s belly. She doesn’t linger, just seems to be making up her mind about something.

“It is good, I believe. Healer Weston?” Inara settles into the other armchair.

“I concur, Lady Mage.”

Dali rolls over and sits up, eyeing the leader of Duris carefully. She notices his expression and sighs wearily.

“Young shape shifter, it is not you I do not trust. The tale I told you of a traitor that first night, you must understand that our traitor was a shifter, yet this person did not shift into any animal listed in any tome we have ever been able to discover. Please understand this. Have you had a hard time with any of my people? Is that why the three of you have chosen to sequester yourselves here?”

Dali frowns, his thoughts tumbling in his head. “The guards?”

“I told you they were there for your protection.”

Jack nods, “You did.”

“It sounds like a misunderstanding to me,” Missy chimes in.

Inara smiles at her, deciding on the spur of the moment that she likes the girl. She almost offers her a job on the spot, but keeps that for the time being in order to say what she came to say in the first place.

“I realize that we don’t all agree on our individual politics, but I have an offer for you. I have been in need of a decent Healer for quite some time. That is not to say that the healers I have in my employ are not talented or very good at what they do, only that they lack…” she pauses for a moment resting her fingers against her bottom lip. “Discipline. They need someone to train them, lead them.”

“What would you have me do once your healers are trained?” Jack queries, crossing his legs.

Inara frowns, not expecting the question. “Continue to do as you had done in Lambden. Wait,” she states, holding up her hand as Dali starts to say something. “Let me finish. I have a place in town, not far from the temple, that I can offer you as partial payment for your services. There is a one bedroom flat upstairs above what would be your clinic, plenty of room for the two of you.”

“That is a kind offer,” Jack acknowledges, checking with Dali to see what he thinks. The young wizard nods, his eyes bright.

“Missy Weston, there are several other flats around town, not as close to the Capitol as your brother—should I say brothers?—will be, but not too far away. Unless you are planning on returning to Lambden or going elsewhere?”

Missy considers this for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. “Justin and I had discussed coming here, you know, after, but I think it is the right thing to do. I made custom spells and herbs there, if there’s any call here for that sort of thing.”

“Indeed, Missy, there very well may be. As I have said time and again, there is space in Duris for all talents of the largest and smallest type. First and foremost, the people here must be comfortable with themselves in order to exhibit their talents at their strongest levels. I extend the same to all of you.”

The Weston siblings grin at one another, glad to have a goal to work on, something besides wondering if each day they are going to be asked to leave the town limits. Inara takes her leave, but is stopped by Dali as her hand lands on the doorknob.

“When can we move?”

Inara actually laughs. “Anytime, I’ll send some of my aides to help you and show you all to your new homes. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you.” Dali tells her.

Inara understands that his words speak for all of them, and for much more than the Lady Mage providing a roof over their heads. She knows full well that magickers prefer to have a purpose and the long days of lounging are taking their toll on the three young people. “See you soon,” she says, stepping out into the corridor.


	23. P2: Chapter Twenty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this is all for now. I actually have the very last scene of Part 2 written but I'm not posting it until there's more of a lead-in. There is quite a bit of Part 3 done already, too, and that's the part I wrote well over a year ago. Please, once again, know how much I appreciate any of you for reading this!

In virtually no time at all, Jack and Dali settle into a routine very similar to their old one. The primary difference in their lives becomes the fact that Jack can practice his healing talent openly, rather than hiding in the secretive darkness of the long nights. And if it so happens that there is occasionally a black cat with glowy amber eyes peeking around the corners or hopping up on the counters, the majority of the people of Duris take it for granted that the shape shifter is here to stay with them.

Jack and Dali have discussed amongst themselves, sometimes with Missy; which although they are grateful for Inara’s gifts and appreciative of her easing their way into Durisian life, there is still much about her politics they do not completely trust. There are times when Jack’s soldiering instincts kick into overdrive or he there will be a strange feeling on the back of his neck.

Dali agrees with him; they often discuss this fact and acknowledge that while their lives have certainly improved, those times where they are looking over their shoulders and watching each other’s backs still exists.

 

The months go by. Missy gives birth to a lovely baby girl who she names Sasha, changing the spelling enough to differentiate her from Dali’s lost little sister. Dali falls in love with the little girl the instant Missy lays her in his arms.

They are all gathered in the back room of the newest version of Weston’s Apocothery and Healing. Missy is comfortably reclining on the bed, the baby asleep in her blanket at her mother’s breast. Jack has just finished checking them both over and giving them a clean bill of health.

“Other than being exhausted, how are you feeling?”

“Oh, Jack, I am just fine, please stop fussing, you old mother hen.” Missy tilts her head and quirks an eyebrow at him, an easy smile gracing her features.

Dali, perched on the chair at the head of the bed, hasn’t taken his eyes off the baby long enough to acknowledge anyone else’s presence, something Jack is finding absolutely adorable and a bit concerning at the same time. He doesn’t say anything, though, they can talk tonight when they are in the privacy of their own rooms upstairs. In the meantime, he feels it is their duty to enjoy this bit of joy.

A soft hush falls over the room as Missy ever so gently touches each one of her daughter’s fingers, her tiny eyelashes and the soft coppery-red down on the top of her head. Jack has his back to her, carefully taking down the baby’s information onto an official certificate to be filed at the Capitol in the next few days. He’d forgotten what is was like to always have paper and writing utensils consistently at hand, and in some ways it has made his job a bit more formal, but there is not much to complain about.

Jack’s attention is pulled away from the paperwork when he clearly hears Missy’s breathing hitch. When he turns around, Dali’s eyes meet his; the young wizard’s expression shows his concern.

“Missy,” Jack murmurs, stepping closer; he sits down beside her on the bed. Very carefully he tugs the baby from her hands and holds the bundle out towards his partner.

Dali’s eyes widen quizzically but he reaches for the babe anyway, long fingers gracefully against the blanket. It is the second time he’s held her since she was born four hours ago. He holds her to his chest, taking care to steady her little head with his arm, rolling her gently towards his body. Sasha makes a soft cooing sound, smacks her little rosebud mouth and Dali’s heart breaks in two and heals itself just as quickly.

Jack regards his niece and his partner fondly, then wraps his arms around his sister’s arms and hauls her closer to him. He doesn’t need to tell her that he understands how much she misses Justin, nor does he say that he understands how lost she feels so far from the place they called home for so long; because he does understand, absolutely. Out of the three of them, Missy was the one who never left home before this.

Missy’s tears dry up soon enough and she blinks up at Jack, “I am always crying, aren’t I?”

Of anyone, though, Jack thinks to himself, Missy is the one who has every right. She’s lost one husband, and now a partner. Sasha lost her father before she had a chance to get to know him. It becomes his resolve that he will try to tell her about him as she grows. It is quite possible that she’ll have some of his talents, those mixed with Missy’s should be an interesting combination.

Missy rests a hand on Jack’s shoulder, bringing him around from his thoughts.

“Are you still with me?”

Jack grins at her, “Nope, I’ve been looking at that.” He points at Dali in the chair, still holding Sasha gently but firmly, long, graceful fingers a contrast to the pink blanket she’s wrapped in.

Missy lets out an exasperated huff, though Jack is glad to hear she sounds more like herself. “You have every right to be sad, Missy, no one should tell you otherwise.”

Dali nods and finally looks away from the baby, the movement drawing Missy’s eyes to him. “In the sadness, though, find reason for joy,” he states, his voice soft and deep, the maxim from Sankari that had not passed his own lips in many years coming easily to mind as he stares down at the baby in his hands.

An odd feeling creeps up the back of Jack’s spine, he shudders lightly against it. He doesn’t have time for that sort of thing right now, but suddenly with every fiber in his being he needs to take Dali upstairs to their room and prove to the young wizard how much he means to him.

Dali understands the smoldering look his partner presents him with. He stares down at Sasha for a few minutes more before passing her to Jack.

Gently kissing the baby, Jack stands and hugs his sister with one arm around her shoulders.

“Get some rest, you two. The midwife will be back in the morning.” Missy nods against him. “You alright then?”

Missy’s eyes move from Jack to Dali and back and she raises her eyebrows, laughing when her big brother blushes from his forehead to the parts of his neck she can see.

“We are fine, run along and be good, you two.”

Dali laughs and vanishes from the room, leaving Jack grinning like a lovesick puppy. Missy waves him away and cuddles Sasha.

 

 

 

By the time Sasha is five months old, she’s already figured out that if she crawls as fast as she can after the black kitty cat, the cat will vanish and her uncle Dali will appear in its stead. Every single time he does this, she sits back on her behind laughing and clapping her hands. Today she is chasing him round and round the counter that is stocked with her mother’s herbs and remedies.

The counter sits at the front of the room and Missy also uses it as a desk of sorts for herself. She keeps an appointment book for Jack’s regular clientele and also a list of custom spell orders for herself. The waiting room is large enough for the counter and several chairs beneath the big window that takes up most of the front wall. In between each pair of chairs, Dali has added a potted plant. They’ve had a time teaching Sasha not to mess with the plants, but today the little girl’s attention is all on her shape shifting uncle.

Missy takes note of how careful Dali is to never shift when there are clients present for either of the Weston siblings. Naturally, she understands his misgivings and mistrust of the general populace of Duris, though they’ve all been here more than a year now. There is especially a bit of friction between Dali and Inara, the leader of the town. Missy has never been exactly sure what title to call the woman by, considering she was at one time the second in line of the Council, so she’s adopted the title her elder brother uses and calls her Lady Mage when formalities are called for and Inara the rest of the time.

Inara simply adores Sasha and comes around occasionally to spend some time with the little girl. Dali says that Inara is waiting to see what talents the child will have and Jack tends to agree with him. Missy is unsure and has struck up a rather unlikely friendship with the woman.

Today, though, it has been a rather quiet one and Dali and Sasha have played chase the kitty all morning. Missy jots down some quick notes concerning her inventory. She’s still counting when Jack and his current patient come out of the examination room.

“Well, Mr. Faust, I think you’ll be just fine. Missy will give you a tincture for the problem and you’ll be right as rain in a few days. Just stay away from salt water for a bit, yeah?” Jack is saying, a merry twinkle in his eye that Missy is sure the customer thinks is for him, but in reality it is because he’s half-watching Sasha and Dali out of the corner of his eyes.

Missy nods at Mr. Faust, a middle-aged farmer-turned-grocer and professionally enquires as to what exactly his issue is because Jack is no longer paying either of them any mind. She wraps up quickly, accepting Mr. Faust’s copper and silver coins and dropping them into the pouch at her side.

“A good morning’s work, I think.” Jack says to her, still watching Sasha speed crawl towards him. Behind the counter, Dali has dropped back into his alter and the cat flies out and mock pounces the little girl who shrieks with delight.

“I agree,” Missy says, taking refuge from the pretend battle going on. At first, she was a little concerned about Dali’s big paws around the baby, but time and time again, he’s proven his trustworthiness by keeping his claws sheathed. Shaking her head a little, she watches the now twenty-two year old wizard with something of a big sister’s eye. They’ve all certainly grown closer in the past year, but Dali is the one who’s grown most into himself. She reflects on how he’s gone from a skittish, shy shape shifter sulking about the front porch of the Apocothery to this fine magicker, a partner and right hand of her brother.

They fit so well together in so many aspects.

“Are you ever going to make it official?” Missy muses aloud.

“What?” Jack asks, coming over to sit beside her. Absently, he fondles one of the leaves on the miniature tree in the pot next to him.

Missy smiles, following the motion. “You know, the two of you. Officially wed and all that.”

Jack looks thoughtful before he answers. “I don’t think we’ve ever discussed it. I guess here in Duris it may matter at some point, but we know who we are to each other.”

Across the room, Dali, has scooped Sasha up into his arms. She’s happily tugging on the laces of his pale silver tunic, rocking herself up and down to bounce against him, laughing the whole time. When he approaches the siblings, he hands her down to Jack where she instantly snuggles her face against his neck.

“Jack,” she says in a stern voice. Jack figures she’s tattling on Dali about something.

“Well,” Missy sighs, “I think we are going to go home for a bit. Do you need me this afternoon?”

“No, I don’t think so. Were there any more official appointments?” Jack asks, putting special emphasis on the word ‘official.’ He’s not angry at his sister, simply trying the word on for size.

“No.” Missy picks up Sasha when she reaches for her mother; she balances her on her hip in a smooth, well-practiced motion. “That’s good then, I’m headed to the market later. Do you need anything?”

“Nope, we’ll go out later. Thank you, though.” Jack offers, winking at his sister.

Missy grins, “Alright then, little lady, it’s just us for a while this evening, then. Ready to go?”

Sasha energetically shakes her head, ginger curls bouncing to and fro. “No,” she informs them, scrunching up her face. She gives her mother puppy dog eyes that are promptly ignored then tries them on her uncle Jack. When that doesn’t work, she turns as far as she can on Missy’s hip and reaches out to Dali.

Dali is just about ready to lift her up when he is stopped by Jack’s hand on his hip. His eyes widen when he recognizes what Jack is thinking and he smiles at the little girl.

“We’ll play some more tomorrow, alright?” As it has always done, Dali’s voice seems to placate her and she rests her head against Missy’s shoulder.

 

 

That evening, in the growing shadows of their bedroom, Jack stills Dali with his hands planted firmly on slim hips. Dali starts to protest a bit, Jack hushes him with a kiss. Gently, he lowers himself to his knees, bringing Dali’s breeches down with him in a single, smooth movement. The young wizard lifts each of his legs in turn until Jack is able to pull the breeches over his bare feet with ease. Dali exhales and sighs as Jack’s hands run up the back of his thighs, callused fingers catching on the fine hairs there.

Jack rests the side of his face on Dali’s thigh, inhaling deeply while his fingers caress and tease; he slides across the wood on his knees, pushing Dali back a few steps until he hits the edge of the bed and is forced to either sit down or be pushed. He sits, stretching his long legs out around his partner and balancing on the backs of his heels and the palms of his hands. In effect, his entire body is one long line from toes to the top of his head.

Jack growls a little under his breath as his hands glide down Dali’s legs, finally grasping the younger man’s ankles, thumbs tracing throw away patterns beneath the joints. Up on the bed, Dali sighs and makes that noise in his chest Jack always considers to be a purr. Jack bows himself forward, allowing his tongue to trace the tracks made by his hands. He traces a line from Dali’s left ankle, up his leg and then takes a nip at the inside of his thigh.

Now it’s Dali’s turn to growl. Jack hushes him and does the same thing to the right leg until his tongue wanders a bit higher, causing Dali to mumble out something that could be Jack’s name. Jack pulls off, but not before letting his lips glide over the tip of his now-throbbing erection, a tease that makes Dali’s back arch and his hands clutch at the blanket beneath him.

 Jack sits back on his heels, gaze moving from Dali’s face to his groin and back. The young wizard’s head is thrown back, his mouth open and his neck exposed.

“Lovely,” Jack informs him as he lunges upward, pushing Dali to his back and carefully sinking his teeth into that neck. In reaction, Dali wraps his legs around Jack’s waist, locking his ankles and allowing Jack to push him upward on the bed. Jack grabs Dali’s ass, effectively holding him in place while he nips, kisses and marks Dali’s neck.

Dali moans and mutters, his voice only getting deeper in tone with each noise he makes. He bucks against Jack, reveling in the feeling of Jack’s broad chest against his, Jack’s hands forcing them closer and Jack’s mouth on his neck.

“Look at me,” Jack states, an order not so easily fulfilled.

Dali is concentrating so much on the pleasure of the feeling of being completely wrapped around Jack that it takes him a moment to open his eyes. When he does, the sight of Jack’s flushed features, sweat moistened brown, and slightly swollen lips almost pushes him even faster to his climax.

Instead, he stills his hips and kisses Jack, tonguing at those hot, swollen lips insistently. He takes over the kiss, quickly ratcheting their passion to another level. In turn, he latches his teeth into the skin between Jack’s shoulder and neck, changing from biting to sucking. He pulls back to look at his handiwork as Jack inhales sharply.

“I want you now, Dali.” Jack pants into Dali’s ear as he tangles his fingers into the longer curls at the nape of Dali’s neck.

“Yes,” Dali answers, bucking harder against Jack, relishing the hot friction of Jack’s body against him. Jack bucks back, swiveling his hips, but the time for teasing is over.

Jack pulls back again, his expression indicating that Dali should move. The young wizard watches his lover move to his back, yanking the pillows out of their places and shoving them behind him. There’s a gleam in his eye and it takes all of Dali’s willpower not to jump on and ride him for all he’s worth right then and there. Jack is too considerate of a lover, however, so when he beckons Dali closer in order to prepare him, Dali goes gladly, turning around so that he can repay a bit of the oral pleasure at the same time.

Dali waits until he hears the sound of the bedside drawer being opened, the thump of a small glass pot against the wood and he swallows Jack to the root when a strong finger breeches him. He gasps only remembering his teeth at the last second and smiles around Jack’s erection at the sound of Jack’s hiss and then a chuckle. Dali licks him up and down until Jack taps his thigh, a wordless request for him to turn around.

Dali turns and straddles Jack, carefully holding himself over Jack’s lap. Jack’s left hand holds himself steady so that Dali can slowly lower himself down. They gasp and groan in unison, Jack lets go and rests his hands on Dali’s hips. Dali rolls his pelvis, inhaling and allowing the heat of the stretch to pass, knowing that Jack is fighting to stop himself from thrusting upward before Dali is ready.  

And it is wonderful when Dali rocks back then reaches out and steadies himself with both hands on the headboard. Jack sits up a bit more, fingers grasping for a hold on lean hips, digging into the flesh there hard enough to leave half-moon marks from his nails.

Dali loves it, the slight burn egging him on; he rocks harder, his movements slower, changing his timing with each thrust.

“Gorgeous, just gorgeous,” Jack mutters, his hands now roaming from Dali’s hips to his chest, feeling every bit of skin within his reach. “I’m so close,” he groans when Dali speeds up the tempo, pushing himself up on his thighs until their connection is almost lost.

“Do it, Jack. I want to see.” Dali looks down, his hair framing his face. Between the heat and the friction and the slick slap of flesh on flesh, he can feel Jack’s climax come upon him. Jack throws his head back and clenches his jaw and Dali continues to control the tempo until Jack can’t take it anymore and grabs his hips, pushing him downward and holding him in place until his climax is over.

Jack takes two deep breaths, pushes Dali over and takes him down his throat. One, two, three bobs of Jack’s head and Dali comes, Jack’s name loud in the atmosphere of their bedroom.

Jack drops his head to Dali’s thigh, his right hand gripping his hip and sighs. Dali’s fingers splay over the top of Jack’s head and both men take a few moments to recover, listening to their hearts beat in unison. Something feels different tonight; perhaps it is the love that has been in the air throughout the day, perhaps it is simply the joy in their union. Whatever it is, Dali decides not to take the time to ponder it further and slips into a heavy sleep; post-coital bliss and the heat from Jack’s naked body a heady cocktail sending him into the realm of peaceful dreams.


End file.
